


i hung the stars for you

by honeyteeth



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Coming of Age, Drinking, Eventual Relationships, First Kiss, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nudity, Pining, Romance, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Sneaking Out, Tenderness, and u know when u change in front of ur best friend. that stuff, dancing in general the moomins like to tear it up, explicitly tender knuckle kissing, it isnt sexual though it's just. skinny dipping, like i know i mentioned drinking before but... a lot of it, moominmamma + pappa are an example of good marriage, secret dates...., the moomins. as a family. go ham, this fic contains nothing sexual dw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2020-05-29 14:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyteeth/pseuds/honeyteeth
Summary: Snufkin isn't sure if it's the perfect warm evenings or the soft glow of fireflies or the way Moomintroll's eyes soften when their gazes meet, but oh how gentle his heart grows when he's around his best friend.





	1. the moomins throw an awful lot of parties

The warm summer breeze danced throughout the valley, rustling the leaves of gooseberry bushes and weaving through forget-me-nots and buttercups. On it was the wonderful aroma of vegetable soup and scalloped potatoes, fresh salad, and soft baked bread. Butters and jams, rosemary and pepper, puddings and doughs and pies and everything wonderful. It all wafted through the air, warm and inviting, drawing little hungry creatures forth from their hidey holes in hopes of sneaking a nibble on Moominmamma’s fine cooking. 

Snufkin inhaled the scent deeply from where he lay on the bank of the river soaking his feet, oh-so-grateful that Moomins, by nature, quite enjoyed a little celebration for almost every occasion. Finding misplaced objects, welcoming new faces into the valley, the passing of bad weather, and, of course, to greet each new season. It was currently June 20th, the official arrival of summer, and the Moomins had prepared a beautiful feast to be held that evening. Currently, the sun was still high overhead, though it was creeping towards the horizon slowly but surely. Snufkin’s stomach grumbled; he must’ve forgotten to eat that day, or perhaps the fish refused to bite. Either way, he  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t go to bed hungry, not tonight. 

“Snufkin! Snufkin, yoo-hoo!” The vagabond brushed away his wide-brimmed hat from over his eyes, sitting up languidly and smiling a little half smile to greet a very excited Moomintroll, who was currently barreling towards him. “Where were you? I’ve been searching quite desperately for you,” he huffed, out of breath by the time he reached the bridge. 

“Right here this whole time, my friend. On the banks, dipping my toes in the river. The water is still cold, you know, it feels quite nice.”

“Pah! Typical, of course!” There came a laugh, light and airy as always. Although his voice had dropped with maturity, Moomin still retained his childlike giggle that tinkled like fairy bells. “You great lug, you lay about all day and little else!” 

“Oh, don’t be sour. I do plenty,” Snufkin defended himself, already pulling his feet from the water in preparation to follow Moomin wherever he was to follow him at that moment. “I go on adventures and fish, among plenty of other things,” he said matter of factly, pulling on one sock (which was now slightly damp). 

“Please, you don’t do a lick of work! You’ve been hiding out here all day because you just know what I’m about to ask you,”

“I haven’t been hiding,” 

“Sure you have!” 

“Well, only because kitchen work is dreadfully boring,” Snufkin had now successfully wrestled on one boot, starting on the other sock once he had finished lacing up. Moomintroll simply laughed at this statement and waited on the bridge, hopping from foot to foot, full of raw energy. How he could retain such excitement after spending so much time with others was a mystery to Snufkin. “though I must admit,  _ nothing  _ is every boring in Moominhouse, so I suppose I could have arrived sooner,” he chuckled, boots now firmly on both of his feet, smile planted on his lips. 

“Yes, you could’ve. Now come, Moominmamma said I must set up the big outdoor table, and you and I both know I can’t for the life of me do it all by myself,” 

“I see, so you need my stellar strength, eh?” The Mumrik chortled, falling into step behind his rather ecstatic friend, tail swishing, content in the company of the other.

“Mm, of course, you surely must be the strongest man in all of the valley and perhaps beyond. O all-powerful Snufkin, doth you truly wish to aid me?” 

“Cut the theatrics and dry up, you great prune. I’ll leave  _ right now,  _ you know, I have the power,” Snufkin rolled his eyes, smiling despite his greatest efforts. 

“Did you not hear me when I said ‘o all- _ powerful?’ _ Snufkin I’m fully aware of your legs and their capabilities to leave me stranded and alone, completely and utterly helpless against a large table,” 

“You were so much sweeter when you were younger. Where’s that all gone?” Snufkin scoffed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress. 

“I swapped it out for sensibility!” 

“Yet you’re still quite frankly an idiot,” 

“As are you.” 

“I suppose that’s why we’re best friends then, eh?” Snufkin laughed, elbowing Moomintroll ever so gently, who carefully nudged him back with a bump of the hip, giggling right along with him. The two had certainly grown up, having changed quite a bit from their younger days. Moomin was bolder and louder and more confident than ever, though he had learned that it was alright to let things go. No longer did he try to tame any creature-- from dragons to Mumriks-- and force it to live with him in the valley forever. He had become very sensible as well, although despite what he had claimed, he retained his sweet nature. Snufkin had changed too, becoming more social and open with his emotions. He still needed time for himself, as such was his nature, but he spent far more time with the Moomins and his other friends than before. He became more empathetic, and although he could still be quite distant at times, he tried to explain any dour mood that might befall him.

Yes, they had both changed quite drastically, but their friendship was still stronger than ever. Sneaking off in the late hours to skinny dip in the spring hidden in the woods, sharing their deepest secrets and most powerful desires. Clasping their paws together whilst adventuring, not having to say a single word because a simple gesture and a look was more than enough for one to understand the other. They became two of the absolute  _ closest  _ friends the valley had ever seen, and nothing would be able to easily change that. 

The table, when they got around to pulling it out from the hidden corners of the back room, was stubborn, and several times Moomintroll had raised his great fuzzy paw and slapped the top of it with a frustration that could only be experienced when attempting to heave a 185-or-so-lb table out in front of a house with only two people. There was much dragging and hissed out curses, courtesy of the young Moomin after he had stubbed his foot for the gazillionth time in the span of fifteen minutes. Eventually, after much grueling labor (far too much for a mere table), the great thing was in front of the house, ready to be set. So, the task was put into action. 

“What type of tablecloth did Mamma say she wanted? The pink one, yeah?” Moomintroll asked, looking through the hallway closet that was stuffed to the brim with extra pillows, blankets, towels, and, respectively, tablecloths. 

“No, yellow,” Snufkin replied, pointing towards the very top of one of the many shelves, directing the troll’s attention to a rather tattered old thing, a nice warm color with lace to line the edges and little white flowers embroidered into the sides. A little elegant for a summer welcome party, Snufkin thought, but it was rather pretty nonetheless. 

“How shall we retrieve it?” Moomin asked, scratching at his chin with his paw. 

“I can get it,” 

“If  _ I  _ can’t reach it, you definitely can’t. You’re shorter than me,” 

“Yes, so I’ll be easy to carry. Give me a hoist, would you?” 

“Ah,” Moomintroll smiled, stepping aside so Snufkin could take his place standing in front of the mountain of fabrics. “ready, Snuf? I’m going to pick you up now.” 

“Yes, thanks,” Snufkin replied

He felt Moomin’s thick, furry arms snake gently ‘round his waist and squeeze. With said contact, Snufkin felt little chills race up and down the length of his spine, and goosebumps erected from his arms. He heard his friend’s breath hitch as he was lifted up, now up high enough to reach up and grab the great yellow tablecloth. He took his time, not quite ready to let himself be let down. 

“Please hurry, Snufkin. You aren’t particularly heavy, it’s just that this is a rather awkward position and if I accidentally step back I may topple over and take you with me, along with god knows what else is up in that closet,” Moomin groaned from beneath him, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, I’ve got it, you big baby. You can let me down now,” the festive cloth was held to his chest as he was being lowered, though even once his feet reached the ground he did not feel Moomin’s grip loosen. In fact, for a split second, he could have  _ sworn  _ the boy squeezed a tiny bit tighter, before releasing him, velvety fingertips lingering on a green-clad waist. Once again, those peculiar chills shot throughout Snufkin like a shockwave, starting in his gut and shooting down to the very ends of his toes to the crown of his tangled red head. He wasn’t sure he liked it very much, it felt far too  _ strange. _

“Oh, Snufkin! You’ve gotten the tablecloth Moominmamma was looking for, thank you, I can take it from here,” the booming voice of a Moominpappa who was only two glasses deep in a pinot noir and already flushed pink around the tip of his snout made both of the boys jump. 

“Are you quite sure? We can help,” Snufkin smiled, though his actions didn’t fit his words, as he handed the tablecloth right to the jovial man. 

“Oh, don’t worry my dear boys! I’ve got decoration under control, this is a time for fun and celebration, certainly not collecting tablecloths from that moth-eaten closet!” He declared, a little melodramatic as usual. “Besides, I  _ believe,  _ dear Moomin, you and Snufkin are old enough to where if Mamma catches you sneaking a glass of wine she wouldn’t be too concerned, so perhaps you should take advantage of that,” Moominpappa chuckled mischievously, an impish glimmer in his eye. He gave one more great bellowing laugh before tipping his hat and turning on his heel, lifting a paw to wave them off. 

“Your father condones underage drinking, eh?” Snufkin turned towards a slightly embarrassed Moomintroll and elbowed him. 

“Ohhhh yes. He condones  _ any  _ drinking, really. He just wants everybody to have fun is all, but it’s just strange how he goes about doing it,” Moomin sighed, clicking the closet door shut. “Perhaps, though, we should take his advice. A glass of wine, a chill on the porch, it’d be pleasant,” he smiled at the Mumrik, who softened his gaze in return, a little smile poising itself on his lips. 

“Mm, I do believe you’re correct. The evening is so lovely, it’d be a pity to waste it on decorating,” 

“My thoughts exactly! Come on,” Moomin grinned, linking arms with Snufkin and trotting downstairs with him. For some reason, the closeness and the gently insistent pull from the troll caused a strange warmth to blossom in the pit of Snufkin’s stomach. He felt his forehead get sweaty and he wanted to let go, but he didn’t want to accidentally make things awkward. 

Upon making it to the parlor, Snufkin was surprised to find Mrs. Fillyjonk and her three pristine children, now a bit more grown up but still no more independent, sitting neatly on the large green squashy sofa. Across from them sat the Snork siblings, Moominpappa, and Sniff, all of whom were looking unfathomably bored. Each one had at least  _ some  _ type of alcoholic beverage in their paws, except for, it seemed, the two siblings. A bottle of whiskey sat half-empty (or half-full, depending on your view of life) on the old worn coffee table.

“And you know, my children are soon going to be sent away to only the  _ highest classed  _ of boarding schools. Many famous and rich folk have gone there, and I’m sure with our background, we’ll do just fine as well,” she chirped, talking in her usual high voice. At this, Snufkin caught sight of Snorkmaiden pouring two shot glasses full of the whiskey and passing one to her brother. The two clinked them together then threw the amber liquid back before settling once again. 

“Hullo Snorkmaiden, Snork,” Moomintroll greeted quietly as to not interrupt Mrs. Fillyjonk’s new speech about tax benefits. 

“Oh, hi you two,” Snorkmaiden smiled. “Care to join our game? Moominpappa gave up a little while ago, and Sniff chickened out right at the beginning,” 

“Game?” Snufkin asked. 

“Yes, it’s a drinking game. We take a shot every time Mrs. Fillyjonk mentions her very high-end way of life. So far, we’re only about six shots in,” Snork explained, leaning back a bit to get a better view of the two friends. Snufkin smiled, looking from them to the talkative neighbor. 

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’d rather not have alcohol poisoning,” 

The four chuckled as the radio was turned on and warm, comfortable music hung in the air. It was coming from the porch and everyone in the parlor stood up to join the pleasant sound of a crackling record. The Mumrik was the first out, having let go of Moomintroll’s arm, happy for an excuse to get rid of that… Feeling, whatever it was. He pulled open the eggshell blue door, next swinging open the mesh mosquito net with a loud creak. Outside, it smelled of good food and alcohol and juice and heavy, sweet June air, the kind that clung to your skin and made you all light and romantic. 

“Oh, Snufkin, there you are,” Moominmamma’s gentle voice caught the Mumrik’s attention, and he was soon smiling at the plump woman. 

“Hi, Mamma,” he returned, voice equally as soft. “you put together a very lovely summer-welcoming party, it’s all so comfortable,” 

“Thank you, dear. Although I must say, half of the work in making a good cozy party is the creatures invited, so I must give my gratitude to you and the others. You know, for being such fantastic guests,” she threw a wink his way, and Snufkin’s chest felt all warm and nice. Her motherly tone and simple yet meaningful gestures were enough to soothe his nerves. 

“Our song, my love! Cease your decorating, this party is pretty enough, and come  _ dance  _ with me!” Moominpappa, once again, startled the Mumrik from behind as he walked out the verandah door and around Snufkin to offer a paw to Moominmamma.

“Oh, but dearest, I still have a few more decorations to hang on the railings, and they will be ever so lovely,” she looked tempted but stayed true to her preparations. 

“Fiddle-faddle. Who cares about how nice the decorations look when something so exquisitely beautiful and divine is standing  _ right here?”  _ He laughed, gently taking her paws in his. Snufkin watched with a sort of curious expression as Moominmamma blushed and gave in to his sweetness, letting him lead her into a comfortable slow dance, the kind that only couples that had been together forever would know. A kind of ache creaked the bones in his ribcage, a longing of sorts, and he hadn’t the slightest clue where it had come from or what had sprung it up.

“Oh, we should dance too, Snuf! Would you like to?” Moomintroll asked enthusiastically, tapping softly on his shoulder. 

“Hm? Oh, ah, no thank you,” Snufkin smiled warily, turning to face his friend, who simply nodded and instead turned on heel to grasp Snorkmaiden’s paws in his own and drag her to the yard, as she giggled sweetly all the way. This made Snufkin smile, seeing them still act as good friends; he thought they would change ever since they broke up, but no. Paw in paw, they swayed in excellent rhythm, sometimes twirling or dipping or stopping to catch their breath. From the porch, Snufkin gazed, looking at their ankles, a sort of uncomfortable feeling burning in his gut. He didn’t like it and he wanted it to go away. He also wanted Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden to stop dancing, though he truly didn’t know why. The feeling that had suddenly sprung upon him mixed with the urge to pull the two apart sort of upset him, actually; he was never normally like this. So, with a bite to his bottom lip, he slid back inside, where it was significantly emptier. 

The lanterns inside were dim and warm, slowly burning out and giving in to their old age. Soon, they’d need to be replaced, or at least filled with oil again. For now, though, they’d do. The song outside was muffled, the bass of it gently vibrating the wooden floors of Moominhouse, but only slightly. It was a nice, slow song, perfect for whatever romantic antics the summer brought about. 

Snufkin padded about inside for a little while, not really taking notice to the few stragglers that were inside and not dancing. Mr. Hemulen and Snork were looking over a large, dusty book that they had drug out from the huge oak bookshelf next to the table. Mrs. Fillyjonk was off in the far corner lecturing her three children for… Some unknown reason, most likely just another cautionary tale about how absolutely untidy and vulgar the Moomins were. 

Suddenly, the music outside changed tempo and a trumpet wailed an introduction to a swing band. The noise, though muffled through the windows and sturdy walls, was still jaunty and brought forth a sort of liveliness to everything. All of a sudden, the door burst open, startling Snufkin into jumping just a tad. From where he stood near the entryway of the kitchen, he saw Snorkmaiden rush in and bolt to her brother, followed by an ecstatic Little My who was (somehow) dragging Moomintroll along by the paw. The whole group was a giggling mess, each a little pink around the ears. Had they been drinking? Snufkin wanted to join, but instead, he just sat still. 

“You!” Snorkmaiden pointed to her brother, who blinked in confusion. 

“Hm?” he replied simply. 

“Capture the flag! Won’t take no for an answer! Come on!” She and Little My took a paw each and pulled him up drawing a sort of bark of laughter from him as his half-hearted rejections were soon drowned out by a new song exploding from outside, louder and bouncier than the last. 

Moomin and Snufkin’s eyes met through all of the commotion. Just for a moment, a mere split second, everything stopped. His eyes were a nice baby blue, pale and soft and sparkling just as they had always been. 

“I think I won’t play right now, but Mr. Hemulen can take my place!” The troll exclaimed happily, helping the elderly man to his feet. 

“What? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly, I’m far too old to be romping about with you children,” 

“Oh but sir, we  _ aren’t  _ children, we’re adults now!” Little My interjected, and the Hemulen only chuckled and shook his head, though he followed the group anyways. Nobody seemed to mind that Moomin was branching off. They left, and other than Mrs. Fillyjonk’s mutterings and the gramophone booming out on the verandah, it was quiet once more in the house. 

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Snufkin asked softly once the two drew close enough, having walked across the room to meet each other halfway. 

“Simple. I wanted to spend time with you,” 

“But what about the dancing? And capture the flag?” 

“Both pretty fun, but I’m not in the mood for games right now. I’m in the mood for wine and quiet.” With that, the conversation was over and a decision that Snufkin apparently hadn’t known about was made. Carefully, Moomin took his paw, lacing their fingers together as he often did and walking to the kitchen. Inside, it smelled like coconut cake and vanilla frosting. There were a few bottles of wine sitting on the island countertop in the middle of the kitchen, and with his free paw, Moomin stole one, holding it by the neck and leading Snufkin to the old wooden door that opened up to face the woods. 

“Stealing alcohol from our parents now, are we?” The Mumrik teased, taking his paw back from Moomin’s grasp. He didn’t like how sweaty his fingers had gotten, or how hot his neck felt. He was very grateful it was dark outside.

“Remember what Pappa said?” 

“Fair point,” and with that, there was no more alcohol talk. Instead, Moomintroll began to talk idly about the fireflies and the stars. Snufkin wasn’t listening, he didn’t know if he  _ could.  _ All he could do was ponder what he was feeling right now at this moment and why. He didn’t even realize he wasn’t paying attention to anything Moomin was saying or doing until he bumped right into him, and he turned around with an arched eyebrow. 

“A little close there, huh?” He laughed, sitting down on the steps to the back porch where they had been heading. 

“Shut up, will you?” 

“Alright, only if you come sit with me. Do you have your pocket knife?” 

“Why?” Snufkin asked though he was already fishing to flashing silver object out of his pocket as he lowered himself onto the step Moomintroll was on. 

“The wine. I have to open it, the cork is still sealed shut.” 

“Oh.” 

The soft little  _ tink _ that accompanied the knife being flipped open followed by metal against glass was the only sound between the two of them for a very long while. Moomin kept hissing under his breath that the cork kept chipping off and might fall into the wine, but finally, with a little triumphant gasp, managed to pull it up just a little bit. The cork squeaked a little against the glass lip of the wine bottle, shooting chills through Snufkin’s spine. He didn’t like it very much, it bothered his ears a bit. He looked up and over just in time to see Moomin take the bit of freed cork in his teeth and tug, straining a just a tad. Finally, with a quick _ pop!  _ the cork burst out, having flung itself from both the neck of the bottle and Moomin’s teeth, sloshing some of the deep ruby liquid over his white paws. 

It soaked into his fur like blood and stained like the raspberries that grew in the big open meadow they used to sneak out to and eat right from the bushes. Snufkin couldn’t stop staring. 

The wine was really very good, it must have been sitting and waiting in the Moomins’ cellar for ages now. It had a very nice rich taste, deep and heavy and thick. Cherry and raspberry (of course) and hints of dark chocolate, said the faded and yellowing description on the bottle. It was the perfect thing to share with your dearest friend whose paws you could not stop staring at on the back porch, far away from everyone else. From the front of the house, the music had gotten quieter, conversation had soothed from a din to a very low hum, so low it was almost unheard. Had there not been almost all of the valley there, it would have been dead quiet. 

“When do you believe you’ll leave for winter, Snuf?” Moomin asked, after taking a rather large swig of wine and passing it to the Mumrik. 

“Mm. Same time as always, you know. End of autumn, right after you’ve gone to sleep.” The bottle was a little over half empty. It had been an hour, and they were taking their time to finish it off. 

“Right, of course. And you’ll be back before I wake up?” 

“Of course, just like usual. I wouldn’t keep you waiting for so long like I used to do,” 

“I know. I’m sorry,” Moomin had the bottle now, and this time threw it back with such force Snufkin feared it would shatter in his scarlet stained paw and he would swallow it all of the little glass shards and the big fat red wax seal that stuck out on the front of the bottle. His ears were flushed a nice peach color, the same with his cheeks and nose. Snufkin could  _ feel  _ the warmth radiating off of him. He felt hot too, of course. And he was sure he was just as flushed. Though he couldn’t quite tell, his head felt like it was swimming. Pleasantly, not headache-y. 

“What for?” He watched the troll’s Adam’s apple bob as Moomin took a second swig before handing the bottle right back. 

“Snorkmaiden says I’m far too clingy towards you, and she’s right,” 

“Snorkmaiden says a lot of things,” 

“But this is true, isn’t it Snufkin?” 

“Don’t be silly, you aren’t clingy.” The wine was starting to dry up Snufkin’s throat, and he felt quite parched. However, he didn’t dare leave the back porch steps. 

“I won’t be upset if you say I am, it’s okay. I’m working on it.” The sincerity that softened his voice was something the Mumrik had never grown used to, not in all of his years of knowing the troll. He wore his heart on his great, white, fuzzy sleeve, and he was so honest with his statements and questions and answers that it made Snufkin feel hot on the inside of his belly, like an inferno. He didn’t much like the feeling, so he changed the subject. 

“Do you feel drunk?” He asked gingerly. 

“Yes. I feel extremely drunk, so drunk I expect I will have a great headache in the morning,” Moomin replied quite simply.

“I don’t.” 

“You don’t think you’ll get a headache?” 

“No, no, I definitely will,” Snufkin laughed, tipping the almost empty bottle back along with his head and taking three large gulps. “feel drunk, I mean. I don’t feel drunk.”

“Well, how  _ do  _ you feel?” Moomintroll had scooted closer to shiver against Snufkin in the chilly nighttime breeze that had befallen their calm warmth. It may have been summer, but late nights were still cold nights, no matter what season. 

“Hot,” Snufkin murmured truthfully. “and like my organs are going to slip out of my body in jello form any minute,”

Moomintroll only laughed at this, draining the rest of the contents of the wine bottle in a single go. 

“You’re drunk. I will bring you medicine tomorrow, and we will have tea at your tent.” 

“Why my tent?” 

“It’s very quiet.” 

They didn’t speak the rest of the night, instead choosing to take a midnight stroll. Moominmamma didn’t seem to notice or mind when Snufkin and Moomin snuck back into Moominhouse, stumbling and slurring half-hearted apologies to her. Instead, she just gave them both a kiss and a nuzzle, then helped Moomintroll upstairs. 

“You’re going to feel so nasty tomorrow, dear,” Moominmamma’s gentle, welcoming voice alerted Snufkin of her presence as she walked down the stairs from helping her son into bed (and also probably placing a pail next to him so that, should he need to puke his guts up in the night, it would be there to provide its tinny comfort). She outstretched her paw, and he took it, feeling nice and fuzzy and warm all over. “I’ll walk you home, alright? Or would you prefer to sleep on our couch? I promise nobody will make any noise tomorrow so that your head doesn’t burst,” 

“‘S fine, Mamma. I ‘onna go home, ‘s quiet there enough,” he slurred gently, which made Moominmamma laugh. He didn’t really know why, it wasn’t particularly funny how drunk he was. It was embarrassing, but at the same time, he felt too stiflingly hot to care.

So, without any further conversation, Moominmamma walked him home, and he instantly crawled into bed, mumbling a messy “goodnight, thank you,” to Mamma as she left. He wasn’t even sure she could hear him, for as soon as he put his head down on his lumpy little pillow, the entire world was quiet.


	2. an artist died that evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three whole days since the summer welcome party, and all three of them have been filled with rain. Now, the sun is finally out, and the ocean is the place to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anime beach episode babey!!! 
> 
> ya this chapter is super bad, im looking thru it and like,,,, ooh yikies. i wanna change it but i've worked on it for ages and i,,, dont want to touch it anymore. the next one i'll try to do better!

Petrichor hung heavy in the air and little drips of water  _ plop plop plop _ ped onto the canvas outside of Snufkin’s tent. It had been raining since the day after the party (much to a hungover Snufkin’s dismay, the thunder rattling his head about ever so painfully), and it was now three days later. Snufkin was surprised the valley didn’t flood, though it did get quite lighter after the first day. Either way, the intoxicating scent of Moominvalley after a good storm was enough to draw him out of his tent, back popping with a few satisfying cracks as he did so. 

The valley was even brighter than before, poppy mallows and bastard cabbage plentiful, and lichen blanketing every rock and tree in view. Forget-me-nots and daisies, buttercups and yarrow, bluebells and foxglove, cornflower and dogbane, a whole array of differing blooms dotted the fields like blots of paint on a lush green canvas. The stream ran harder and stronger than ever, it’s endless burble a pleasant sound that rung like hymns in Snufkin’s ears. It also made him too thirsty, so he decided to focus his hearing elsewhere. Like, for instance, on the birds; after being cooped up in wherever birds go for three days during a particularly long storm, they were chirruping and twittering with joy. The crows and the bluejays squawked happily in their branches as the sparrows and wrens chased one another playfully. 

The whole world seemed to be completely serene, fresh, reborn. It was a perfect day to explore, decided Snufkin. He inhaled the air deeply, closing his eyes and letting a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he imagined the splendid outing he would have all by himself. Some time alone, nobody to bother him, perhaps fishing would work. 

Out of nowhere, that strange ache in his chest he had during the party was back, coiling tight around his ribcage and squeezing his heart. Moomintroll flashed in his mind, and he instantly pushed the thought back. Though the troll was quite persistent, and eventually, poor Snufkin could not stop thinking of him. He ought to take Moomin fishing, he decided, a little worriedly. His palms were hot and itchy and starting to moisten. He didn’t like it one bit, and so he wiped them on his dress, hiding beneath his hat despite the fact that there was nobody there to see him. His gaze lifted to the soft blue of the Moomins’ porch, the steps and a few inches of the edge of it glistening with water. A puddle gathered at the very bottom step, where there was a dent in the wood from about a week after the great comet when Moominpappa dropped one of the legs of the big green squashy couch on it. He had found it abandoned by one of the neighbors who had run away and decided it best fit the Moominhouse. Snufkin remembers this strange moment particularly vividly because Moominmamma laughed so hard when the great old thing came crashing down on the bottom porch step that she snorted. Pappa was surprised at this, and Mamma said she had no idea why she was laughing so terribly hard. Snufkin remembers Moominpappa trying to keep her laughing because he had wanted to hear her snort again. That was the day Snufkin realized that he would  _ like  _ this family. A lot. They were just so unapologetically silly, and quite full of love for each other-- so genuine. 

Upon approaching the house and climbing up the verandah steps, he saw that the mosquito net door was swung wide open, only leaving the eggshell blue one. Music poured from the gap below the door, a fun swing tune, trumpets and saxophones wailing while drums beat away. Moominmamma must be cooking breakfast; she always did love to have music on while she worked.

As usual, there was no need to walk; Snufkin simply pushed the door open, the music fully enveloping him the minute it cracked open. It smelled like strawberry jam and fresh buttermilk pancakes, all warmed up from the skillet. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. It squeaked, as usual, before fitting into the doorframe with a quiet click. 

“Snufkin!” Moomintroll’s voice called from the parlor, and soon the Mumrik was smiling at him as he bounded up, ears flapping happily in an ecstatic greeting. Snufkin felt his neck get hot. The ear thing was  _ cute.  _

“Hiya,” Snufkin smiled in return. 

“What’re you doing here? I figured you’d go hiking after being cooped up in your tent for three days.  _ Which,  _ by the way,  _ you didn’t have to do,”  _ Moomin’s voice turned stern, and he placed two furry paws on his hips. “Moominhouse is always open to you, you know!”

“Yes, yes,  _ mother,  _ I know,” Snufkin teased, swatting Moomin lightly on the shoulder. “I was fine in my tent.” 

“Sure you were,” 

“Really!” 

“Right.” Moomin rolled his eyes. He was smiling. “Hungry? Mamma just made pancakes, they smell so good,” 

Snufkin pondered for a moment. Originally, he was going to go on a hike just as Moomin had predicted, but the thought of eating those wonderfully warm buttermilk pancakes with strawberry jam, having a jaunty conversation with Moomin… It sounded nice. 

“That sounds amazing, actually, thank you,” he smiled, following Moomintroll into the kitchen where Snorkmaiden was teaching Little My how to jitterbug. They had slid the dining table to the side, pushing the couches and chairs to the far reaches of the room. The gramophone sat dustily on a large stack of old philosophy books (courtesy of the Muskrat who used to live with the Moomins). 

“Okay, now I pick you up like  _ this,”  _ Snorkmaiden explained, gently putting her paws beneath My’s arms and lifting her. They spun around for a moment, both laughing giddily. They didn’t know how to jitterbug. 

“That wasn’t right at all!” Little My snorted. 

“Well, you’re so  _ small  _ that I can’t!” 

There was no more banter, and instead, Snorkmaiden took one of My’s paws and spun her ‘round, before doing a little jaunt about the room. It wasn’t even the jitterbug anymore. 

“Snufkin, hello dear. Is your head doing well?” Moominmamma called from the kitchen, pan in paw. Effortlessly, she flipped a pancake and the Mumrik watched as it did a full spin in the air before slapping satisfyingly right back onto the pan. 

“Just fine, thank you, Mamma,” Snufkin replied politely, nodding a greeting at the two girls as he passed them on his way to the kitchen. On the middle island, a whole plate of pancakes stacked high sat, just waiting to be eaten. He picked up a plate from the cabinet, closing it with a squeak. 

“If you’d prefer raspberry jam or apricot, we have some in the icebox. Pancakes go with all sorts of jam, I suppose,” Moominmamma hummed sweetly from the stove. 

“Strawberry is perfect, thank you,” Snufkin said simply, placing a few flapjacks onto his plate and using a nearby spoon to scoop up dollops of the jam. It was ruby red, like the wine that had spilled on Moomin’s paws during the party. 

Moomin’s paws. 

Snufkin shook his head as he spread the jam around on top of the warm, delightfully fluffy flapjacks, doing what he could to distract himself. The music faded 0ut in the parlor, and he heard little giggles and muffled voices as the record was flipped before the music came back, joyful and peppy per usual. 

“I think we should all go down the beach and collect shells today,” Snorkmaiden said through a mouthful of pancakes. Everybody had grabbed their portion, as well as a glass of lemonade, and headed out to the porch to relax on the steps (they had to manually dry them using towels). “perhaps we’ll even find something exciting! There’s always something new washed up on the beaches after a big storm.” 

“Like that big statue Moomintroll fell in love with,” Snufkin murmured into his glass of lemonade. 

“Hush!” Moomin swatted Snufkin’s arm, who only laughed. Snorkmaiden and My were giggling, too, and Moomin’s ears grew bright red. Snufkin almost reached out to touch them, to see if they were as hot as they looked, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he ignored the tug of his left paw and forked a large bite of pancake into his mouth. Some jam smeared on the corners of his mouth, and he wiped it off with the sleeve of his dress. 

“Anyways, I think that’s a very good idea Snorkmaiden,” Snufkin said to the girl, who grinned. 

“Sniff will come too, I expect,” Little My huffed, taking a big swig of lemonade. 

“Yes, probably. Where is he by the way?” Snorkmaiden asked. 

“Counting some coins he found by the springs,” My rolled her eyes. “I don’t think he should’ve taken them, it was a bad idea. They probably belonged to somebody, but you know Sniff-- greedy as can be.” There was a collective tsk from the group before silence befell them as they all shoveled great amounts of pancake into their mouths. Snufkin expected everyone was excited to explore the beach, and if he was being honest-- so was he. The feeling of actual  _ desire  _ to spend time with others was so foreign, he had no idea where it came from or why it was there, and he wasn’t even sure he liked it. And another thing-- he was absolutely sure that if Moomin were to ditch the operation, he would, too. He just didn’t want to be with the others at the moment unless his very best friend was there. He took a sip of lemonade pensively, listening to the way the ice clinked together like the stained glass wind chimes on the verandah. 

Eventually, everyone had finished their pancakes and lemonade. Snufkin was the first to be done, and then for the rest of the time he completely tuned out the others-- for some reason, he was just completely gone (in the mental sense, at least) while the others conversed together as usual. Sniff even came over to join, stealing a few pancakes off of Moomin’s plate and easily agreeing to go frolic by the ocean for the day. 

“Snufkin, I can take your plate in if you’d like to grab your fishing gear,” Moomin’s voice pulled him out of his daze, and he blinked stupidly at the troll. 

“Huh?” 

“Your pole and bait. I can take your dishes inside if you’d like to grab them,” 

“Oh, no, thanks. It’s fine, I don’t think I’ll be fishing today,” he smiled warily, standing up and following the group inside to rinse off their plates and cups in the sink. The water was warm and soapy and made Snufkin’s paws all slippery, and the towel by the sink was already being used by the other three so he just wiped his paws on his dress. 

“I wonder if we’ll find any treasure,” Sniff said, letting Moomin wash his dish for him. “I’d like to find more gold coins!” 

“Oh, for what? Sniff, you know you can’t do much with gold,” Little My huffed, smacking him on the back of the paw. 

“I  _ like  _ gold coins,” 

“Well, that’s a terrible reason to keep hoarding them!” 

“ _ Collecting,”  _ Sniff corrected her. Little My rolled her eyes and kicked him lightly in the shin. When he made a big deal of whining about how much it hurt, Snufkin could only suppress his laughter. The silly antics of this group was probably one of his favorite aspects of it; maybe he ought to hang out with them more. Though, then, of course, he may grow tired of their company and decide to ignore them completely after a while, which was a very sad thought, so he decided not to dwell on it any longer.

Eventually, after much needless preparation, the five set off, going down their regular path. The beach was just a walk away, and it was always nice to just take a simple stroll down the road. Snufkin tipped his head back as they walked, soaking in the fresh summer air. The sun came in rays through the trees, kissing his cheeks and nose. His freckles would soon be much more visible; he expected them to come in during the spring, but this year’s spring had been particularly cloudy. He was excited to finally have the beat of the sun on his neck and shoulders and fingertips, it was such a beautiful feeling, being outside in all of this warmth. He could see the beach from where they were all positioned-- sand still quite damp, but a nice golden color nonetheless. He was excited to be able to sink his feet into the warmth of it, to feel the ocean lap against his ankles, to get tangled in the washed-up seaweed and kelp, slimy as that may be. 

Upon reaching the end of the path, he carefully slid down the hill that served as the final stretch to the ocean. Suddenly, a blast of cool salty air hit Snufkin’s face. He closed his eyes, breathing in and feeling the corners of his mouth quirk. How he loved the ocean ever so dearly. 

“I can already see some wonderful shells from here,” Snorkmaiden exclaimed, running the rest of the way down the hill. Little My was on her shoulders, excitedly hollering with joy as the wind whipped loose strands of ginger hair around her tiny head. Sniff and Moomin soon followed though Snufkin thought it best to take his time. He had already tripped so many times in this particular area, and he’d rather not risk it again. So he ambled on, gazing at the others as they chased back the seafoam and the clear green water, finally reaching the sand himself. He leaned down to quickly untie and unbuckle his boots, kicking them off and prying away his socks haphazardly, excited to feel the warmth of the sand on the pads of his heel and sole of his foot-- and it did indeed feel nice. 

The water felt incredible, all warm around Snufkin’s ankles. He had to roll up his pants and hike up his dress so the fabric wouldn’t get wet. Seaweed brushed against his skin, and it made him jump every time; perhaps, his mind told him worriedly, it was an octopus! Though of course, he knew this was ridiculous, for octopi preferred to stay hidden out in little cracks and crevices instead of the open shore. Eventually, he got used to the slimy tendrils as they snaked around his legs and simply enjoyed the pleasant translucent water as it lapped against him, the sand giving way beneath him and letting his toes sink in, the little rocks he would occasionally bend down to pick up and give a nice look-over before tossing them back into the ocean. 

“Snufkin!” Moomin’s voice, accompanied by rather large splashes, made the Mumrik look up from the ocean. “Snufkin, look what I found,” he said, out of breath once he had reached the Mumrik. He held out his paw-- in it was something very shiny; it glinted and sparkled in the sunlight. As Snufkin leaned in to inspect it, he saw what it was. A little silver bracelet, with several small charms attached to the rings of it. There was a star, a moon, a bicycle, an arrow, a little sun, and a compass charm. The whole thing looked a little rusted over in some parts, but it was nothing a little white vinegar and baking soda solution couldn’t fix. 

“It’s very beautiful,” he murmured to Moomintroll, who only looked away bashfully and extended a paw. 

“I’m glad you think so because--ah-- I want you to have it,” the tips of his little white ears flushed peach pink, and they began to flap about nervously. Snufkin felt that all too familiar heat on his neck and the sweat that built up on his brown and in the creases of his palms. “I would understand if you’d rather not take it, I know you don’t like material possessions. I can just give it to Snorkmaiden or something…” Moomin chuckled absently, looking away with shy blue eyes. 

“No, no I love it,” Snufkin said quickly, reaching a paw out to grab the bracelet before retracting slightly, embarrassed at his own eagerness. “I love it.” He repeated softly, smiling at Moomin, who grinned back.

“I was thinking Mamma could help us get the rust off, she’s done it before. To a lot of things, really, almost all of Pappa’s tools. Isn’t it pretty?” The troll’s subjects bounced around and he took hold of Snufkin’s paw in his own, strolling along the shallow waters. 

“Yes, very pretty. Are there a lot of things that washed ashore due to the storm?” He asked. 

“Yes, a lot of driftwood and such. Snorkmaiden found a coin and a few pearls that must’ve ripped off of a necklace, and now Sniff is running rampant along the banks trying to find more. Little My only found two crabs and a shell.”

“Ah, so your find really wasn’t all that special,” Snufkin teased, before realizing what he had said. Moomin looked a bit downcast, ears drooping ever so slightly. He let go of Snufkin’s paw. “I was only joking, you know, don’t worry. I think yours is my favorite, in fact,” the Mumrik tried to explain himself. 

“Just saying that to make me feel better huh? What a bully you are, Snufkin,” Moomin only smiled, eyes glistening. He must’ve realized that Snufkin hadn’t meant what he had said at all. 

“Oh stop making me a villain,” 

“ _ I’m  _ not making you a villain, you do that to yourself quite well!” 

“You great white lump! I’ll show you!” And then, Snufkin let go of the hem of his dress, letting the bottom edges soak in the salty water, and bent over to splash Moomintroll with a spray of water. Moomin laughed, holding up his paws to protect himself. 

“Cut that out!” He cried joyously. There was no cutting out, however, and Snufkin only splashed a few more times before picking up his hem again and running through the waves. Moomin called after him, and he heard splashes as the young man no doubt followed in suit. 

Together, the two raced along the shallow waters of the shore, occasionally stopping to splash at the other or throw a few half-hearted insults here and there. The other three watched from the shore, but Snufkin paid them no mind. His attention was on running as far as he could from his dearest friend, whom, now, at the moment, wielded a very large stick above his head. Said stick was covered in thick seaweed, juicy and dripping and ripe for flinging. It was never flung, though, because Moomintroll tripped and fell snout-first into the green ocean, and when he rose, he was sopping wet, fur weighing down in heavy thick strands. Miserable as he looked, though, his face was lit up, and he was laughing. So were the others. And eventually, Snufkin started to laugh, too. He had no clue why, though. Something about the way the golden sun caught stray fur on Moomin’s white coat, how the ocean lapped at his ankles and kissed at his kneecaps. How his eyes were crinkled just so at the corners, mouth open wide and sharp canines sparkling, glistening. How his laugh was so light, so airy, but at the same time so unbelievably hideous. He snorted a few times, and that’s when Snufkin really lost it. 

He had to hunch over and hold his sides, they were starting to hurt but his laughter didn't stop. He laughed so hard he almost peed. 

The group stayed for the rest of the day, but now the sun was setting, and everybody could tell it was almost time to leave. However, before their time was up, they soaked up as much of the golden evening as they could, unable to resist the warm light and smell of seaspray. Little My and Snorkmaiden were shaping sand at the shore, speaking with low voices. Sniff had gone home, saying that he was far too wet and didn’t want to catch his death. Snufkin and Moomin sat atop a large craggy rock, dangling their feet over the edge. They were very close. Snufkin could feel Moomintroll’s arm pressed up against him, and he felt hot again, so he didn’t think about it. They were gazing at the horizon, silent. The sunlight turned from white-yellow to a thick, honey gold, and the clouds were tinted with marvelous pinks and apricots.

“An artist has died,” Moomintroll said suddenly, his voice quiet and soft as Snufkin had ever heard it to be. He spoke cautiously, gingerly, as though he were afraid to say it. 

“What?” Snufkin asked, turning to look at him. He was confused at the sudden shift in moods.

“The sky, look at it.” 

“I am.” 

“And the clouds. Look at all of the colors, look at how they blend and warm up to each other. Moreso than any other evening. Look, see, the artist must have liked nighttime, too, because there are cool plum shades along with the warm colors,” 

“Do you mean to say they painted the sky?” Snufkin asked softly. Moomintroll nodded.

“Mamma told me that when artists die, they have a last hurrah and get to paint the sky whatever color they please. You can tell the artist’s evening apart from any regular one because you can feel it. In the air, I mean. And there are far more colors.” 

There was silence between the two for a moment. Snufkin’s pinkie was touching Moomin’s. The Mumrik thought about what his friend had said-- for some reason, it resonated with him, thrummed in the very depths of his gut. He  _ could  _ feel it. The air was heavy, and there was a certain longing. A mournful, soft longing. The artist must have been very sad to die. 

Before Snufkin could say or do anything stupid, Snorkmaiden broke the silence, announcing that it was almost twilight, and it was time to go. 

“I’ll bet I missed supper!” She exclaimed, tossing Snufkin’s socks and boots up to him from where he sat on the ledge. He began to struggle into them, feet still a little damp from galavanting about in the water. “The Snork said he would make vegetable stew. All he’s good at is soups and stews, really, but that’s alright! Stew is good, especially after a day like this! I’m so hungry, I hope he’ll warm some up for me,” She rambled on, waiting patiently until Snufkin had both of his shoes on before starting off with Little My at her side. Moomintroll and Snufkin weren’t far behind, and eventually, they all caught up and congealed into one group strolling along the beach path the way they had come to return back to their homes. 

Moominmamma had worked her magic on the charm bracelet Moomin gave Snufkin, making a solution and letting the bracelet soak for a few hours before scrubbing it gently off and drying it. She even went as far as to polish it, which she insisted on doing despite Snufkin’s gentle assurance that he didn’t need anything like that. The Moomins wanted Snufkin to stay for dinner, but he politely declined, feeling as though his stomach would turn in on itself if he spent any more time with Moomintroll. Was he growing to dislike him? Growing to grow tired of his very best friend, one he spent most of the time out of the year with? 

Snufkin let his eyelashes flutter closed as he lay sprawled out atop his sleeping bag, refusing to think about whether he was tiring of the troll or not. Summer heat had already set in, making it uncomfortable to bundle up beneath his covers, so he merely decided against it. He had shimmied out of his dress and pants, now only lying in his boxers and tank top. It was loose on his frame and bunched up in a few awkward areas. 

He thought back to what Moomin had said at the beach. The way the subject was brought up-- so gentle, so careful. As though he were stepping on shards of glass. There was so much wistfulness in his tone, so much care the Mumrik had never really recognized before. Something about the way he described the dead artist’s last message to the world struck a chord with the Vagabond. 

As he lay, silent in the heat, he wondered which artist had died that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my own mamma used to tell me about this. she said that when she died, she'd paint the sky pink and orange and red and all warm colors. i still think about it a lot
> 
> also sorry this chapter is kinda a bummer lol the others will be much more cheerful!


	3. vulnerability is not something snufkin had ever been used to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to play checkers four times to truly get closer with your friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ough finally an update
> 
> the last chapter 3 was deleted because it SUCKED so! IM the author and i get 2 change the plot. this chapter STILL sucks but i promise u im trying to improve my writing,,, practice takes perfect babey

“Uno!” Moomintroll exclaimed. He held up his one final card quite triumphantly between the spaces of his middle and index finger. Midday light flowed through his open window, filtering through his paper-thin curtains, which had been ruffling softly in the summer breeze. The whole room smelled of blossoms and sweetgrass, the delicate aromas having wafted in through the window.

“We weren’t playing Uno,” Snufkin said slowly, fingering through his cards. “do you have the four of spades?” 

“N-no… g….o fish…” Moomin let the words die the very moment they slipped from his tongue. He sniffed awkwardly. “We weren’t playing Uno?” He looked up, meeting Snufkin’s gaze, who shook his head, strawberry brown hair waving this way and that with his movements. He had long since discarded his hat (and boots) near Moomintroll’s desk, just about an hour before the Go Fish-or-Uno catastrophe. He really hadn’t any clue why he’d come by in the first place, he had simply been fishing out by the ocean, despite having been there just yesterday, when suddenly his chest tugged him in the direction of his best friend. 

“Silly mistake of yours, eh Moomin?” He teased, reaching out and swatting Moomintroll’s snout lightly. He pulled his paw back and placed it on the soft, patched sheets. They smelled familiar; he must have been up in this room a billion times.

“Not  _ my  _ mistake, but yours! When you got here, I had said ‘Snufkin, we should play Uno!’ and you said ‘Okay Moomin, let’s play Uno.’ so then we-- well, we started playing Uno!” 

“But you forget that, after I had accepted, I said we should play Go Fish instead because I’m better than you at Go Fish. Though I didn’t specify that last part,”

“Better than me! The nerve!” Moomintroll exclaimed, melodramatically slapping the back of his paw to his forehead. Snufkin always enjoyed getting a rise out of Moomin. Playfully, of course; he’d never want to purposefully upset his friend as anything but a joke. Even though he knew he’d done it plenty of times. They both have. “We both know I’m amazing at Go Fish, and  _ you’re  _ just a sore loser!” 

“How could I be a sore loser if I’ve won every time?” 

“Okay, then explain to me how you’ve done that!” At this point, Moomin had slapped his final card down, face-up, revealing the two of hearts. The impact left a little crinkle in the sheets. Snufkin stared at it for a moment.

“Because I have a better poker face than you. I can read all of your emotions right-- _ here--”  _ Snufkin reached over across their small pile of playing cards. The bed squeaked below his knees as he shuffled closer, extending his arm until the pads of his paws touched Moomintroll’s ears. Delicately, he wrapped his fingers around them, unaware that his mouth was pressed right to Moomin’s snout. Except suddenly he  _ was _ aware. And suddenly his cheeks became flushed bright red, and his palms began to grow sweaty again, and he felt  _ ill,  _ really, quite terribly ill. His breath hitched in his throat when he felt Moomintroll’s paws reach out to grab his waist, seemingly brushing against his sides before firmly holding down, as to not let Snufkin topple over. 

“Please, my ears don’t give  _ anything  _ away,” Moomintroll huffed, clearly unaware at how uncomfortably…  _ intimate  _ the situation was. 

Calm down, Snufkin thought frantically to himself. If Moomin doesn’t notice, his mind hissed, then neither should you. 

“Th-- uh, they do. Really. They flap about when you get excited, or lay flat on your head when you’re upset,” slowly, Moomintroll helped Snufkin back into a sitting position across the bed, the mattress once more whining in protest at the movement. His ears slipped softly from Snufkin’s grip, which had lightened under all of the tension in the room that only the Mumrik could truly seem to feel. “and they perk right up when you’re happy again. And um… Sometimes only one flicks at a time, especially when you’re frustrated or annoyed, and ah-” Moomintroll didn’t let go when Snufkin was sitting, his paws still holding feather-light onto the Vagabond’s waist. When he finally  _ did  _ release him, he moved away slowly, the tips of his fingers actually  _ lingering  _ as they drew away oh so carefully. “--and. And they…. And…. And…” 

Moomintroll’s eyes were so much softer than Snufkin could ever remember them to be, and it seemed as though two stars had simply dropped from the sky to fill them. Every other star must be jealous, Snufkin thought.

“And what?” Moomin asked softly, voice painfully more casual than Snufkin felt. He had this delightfully charming little smile on his face, and his head cocked to the side. “Geez Snufkin, you seem to know an awful lot about my ears, hm? What, do you stare at them so often that you can simply read them?” The tips of them had turned pink, glowing softly, warmly, with what must be blush. Snufkin must’ve embarrassed Moomin. 

“Checkers,” he blurted loudly instead of actually answering the troll.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I trust that,” 

“N--no, I mean, let’s play checkers. Instead of cards. Because there’s one singular objective that maybe  _ some  _ trolls can follow,”

Finally. Snufkin could think again. His adrenaline kick slowly faded away, and he could no longer feel his heartbeat in three places at once. He’s okay, he’s fine. Everything is fine. He wiped the sweat that had begun to cling to his paws while his mind had been racing on his dress.

“Hey! We were playing Uno and you know it!” Moomintroll huffed but there was a grin plastered over his face and he began to stack the playing cards, their soft shuffling filling the room for a moment as he gathered them together in neat piles and placed them back into the little wooden box Moominpappa had made for the deck. He had made that box years ago, back when he was younger, actually; the cards previously belonged to Snufkin’s father, the Joxter, and their original purpose was to be used as a form of tarot. The memory of Moominpappa dramatically telling Snufkin and the others how Joxter would _always_ lose his cards so he had to make the box made the Mumrik smile a little, forgetting all about the tension he himself had created for a moment.

“...And so I hope you’re ready to lose, Snuf,” Moomintroll’s voice snapped Snufkin out of his own mind, and he looked over at his friend hazily. 

“What?” 

“Snufkin, did you even hear me?” Moomin deadpanned. 

“No, of course not, I never listen to what you have to say,” Snufkin retorted snarkily, moving to lay on his side instead of sitting up. A little red something whizzed over and _thwack_ ed into his forehead, bouncing back onto the mattress. A checker piece. “Hey!” Snufkin laughed, picking it up and preparing to hurl it right back. “That’s playing dirty!” 

“Yes, well, you deserved it for your lack of a brain!” Another piece, black this time, bounced off of Snufkin’s shoulder, and now all of the tension truly had dissipated and both of them dissolved into fond laughter. Nice and comfortable, familiar as always. 

Despite this, Snufkin couldn’t help but feel that  _ something  _ was missing. Deep in the pit of his gut, hollowed out and vacant, there was a little hole that had needed to be filled for quite some time, but Snufkin could never truly understand what it was.

Snufkin spent the first round of checkers brooding on that one thought, that one  _ feeling  _ of strange, foreign emptiness. He had never really felt like it before… Except, well, during the summer welcome party. And the night Moomintroll had told Snufkin he dumped Snorkmaiden, and even before then when they had first begun dating several, several springs ago. The feeling was powerful, and it had stayed there for years. So why was it now just beginning to ache so severely in Snufkin’s chest? 

“You know,” Moomin’s voice tore Snufkin away from his own train of thought. “if you keep slacking like that, I’ll win and retain my title as checker champion.” There was a smirk in his voice and a glimmer in his eye. 

“Hush, you, I’m just thinking of something,” Snufkin shot back. 

“For once!” 

“Hey now, you’re one to talk! You’ve ought to be the spaciest fellow I’ve ever met!” Snufkin laughed, hopping over one of Moomin’s black pieces with his red, taking it to his side. He had a little pile, now, though it was much smaller in comparison to Moomintroll’s.

“Well, either way, you haven’t been paying attention to the game and are losing quite terribly,”

“Quiet, you wretch, I’ll make a comeback,” Snufkin huffed, though he was smiling. He couldn’t help but smile around Moomin; he found it quite difficult indeed to be upset around his very best friend. It was strange, really, how good the troll made him feel. 

He never wanted the feeling to go away.

Snufkin never made a comeback. Not in the first rematch, or the second, or even the third. He was too preoccupied with his thoughts-- or, trying to deter them, rather. Each time Moomin’s paw would brush against his, each time he smiled softly at Snufkin, each time his ear would flick or he would bubble over with laughter, Snufkin could  _ feel  _ his cheeks flush a hideous red and his fingertips grew sweaty. Truly, he felt physically ill, doing what he could to ignore the way his heart thrummed in his chest, drumming rhythmically against the very bones of his ribcage. Something must have been  _ wrong,  _ he must be coming down with an awful fever. 

It was around the fourth rematch when the two friends became mutually disinterested in checkers. The sun was beginning to go down, a golden glow filling the tiny bedroom. Captured in the light, little dust molecules could be spotted floating about, dancing this way and that, being swept away with the slightest breath. Once or twice, Snufkin reached a paw out and closed it around one of the microscopic balls. When he’d open his paw again, he’d look into his soft palm and there would be nothing there. Moomin had taken an interest in running his index finger gingerly along the seams of his blanket. He had long since laid down on his side, barely even taking notice of whether or not he was winning. He was, of course, he was always better at board games than Snufkin had ever been. Even so, he was a fun opponent, and a very good sport, always enthusiastically congratulating Snufkin when he would  _ finally  _ one-up him in Monopoly or Clue or Sorry. 

“Snufkin, I want to say something,” Moomintroll said abruptly, voice barely above a whisper. He leaned over to slide a checker piece over, respectively taking one of Snufkin’s. 

“Say something, you have time,” Snufkin replied, unable to ignore the complete shift in tone on the troll’s part. The evening crickets began to sing, joining in on the cicadas’ din. A cool little breeze blew in from the window and danced lightly across the room, carding through Snufkin’s hair and weaving between Moomin’s ears. 

“Mm. Well, you do know about Snorkmaiden and I?” 

Something stabbed at Snufkin’s chest. Twisted around in his gut. He felt a white-hot flash of… could it be jealousy? But only for a moment. Had they gotten back together?

“...No. Have you two gone and decided to be all lovey-dovey again?” His voice was much meaner than he had expected it to be, and it left a disgusting aftertaste all over his mouth. For a second, he saw the hurt in Moomin’s eyes, so he softened his expression, attempting to convey that he really hadn’t meant such hostility. 

“No, actually, I was just trying to tell you  _ why  _ we broke up,” 

“Does it matter? That was quite a while ago,” once again, Snufkin mentally slapped himself right across the cheek. He was upset, suddenly, and he hadn’t the slightest clue  _ why.  _

“Snufkin, I’m being serious right now,” Moomin began to pile all of the checker pieces away, and the Mumrik felt knots twist in his stomach. “I had been thinking of telling you for a really long time, and it really shouldn’t be a big deal. Snorkmaiden didn’t make a big deal out of it, so neither should I, but I’m just… Afraid.” 

“Of what?” Snufkin asked, voice dropping to a near whisper. 

“Well, I... Okay. Please please please promise you’re still going to be my best friend when I tell you this?” Moomin outstretched his arms over the half put-up game of checkers. Snufkin stared with a cotton-dry mouth the entire time, gazing at his fingers as they crept apart and curled around his own paws, pulling them back ‘til their intertwined digits stood between them. “I’m very afraid and I don’t quite know  _ why _ , Snufkin.”

“It’s alright, I promise you I won’t think any less of you when you tell me,” Snufkin wanted very desperately to be let  _ go  _ of, for Moomin to unlace their paws and just go on playing checkers and tossing snide remarks back and forth with the Mumrik, but oh he was  _ trembling  _ and how could Snufkin ignore that? 

“I suppose I’m being a bit overdramatic over this, but. Well, I broke up with Snorkmaiden because I realized it was all an act. I care for her very deeply, I still do and she  _ is  _ one of my very best friends so I suppose I always shall, but oh I could never love her the way I’m expected to love her. I could never really love  _ any  _ girl the way I’m expected to.” His eyes had grown misty. Snufkin could see the way the tears, fat and round, clung heavily to his eyelashes, which stuck together sloppily and wetly. 

“So who do you love then?” Snufkin asked simply, squeezing one of the paws in the little tangle between them, hoping it was Moomin’s. Thankfully, it was, as he felt the way the soft white fur shifted between his fingers.

“Well,” Moomintroll chuckled quite weepily, finally relinquishing his grip on the other boy’s paws and letting his own drop softly to his sides. “it seems I’m ah-- a little bit of a fruit if you understand what I’m trying to say.” 

“Oh, so, like a strawberry? Or a cherry, maybe.” Snufkin completely knew what he was saying. “You’re more of a peach, actually,” 

“Snufkin! Don’t be mean, you understand what I’m telling you, don’t you? I’m bent, not straight, gay, whatever you want to call it.” There was a pause, and horror flooded the troll’s eyes. “Are you uncomfortable with that? W-- uh, with me liking boys, I mean?” 

Snufkin only smiled and shook his head. Slowly, he reached out and pressed his paw to Moomin’s shoulder, squeezing it softly to let the boy know that everything was alright. The light had grown dimmer and dimmer, until now, from where Snufkin was sitting, he could only see Moomintroll’s silhouette, a halo of gold illuminating the fur around him. 

“It’s okay, Moomin. To tell you the truth, I feel the same way,” he dared to whisper, taking his paw back and clutching it tight to his chest. He was nervous, face hot, fingers itchy. He wasn’t used to vulnerability, wasn’t used to being so… Intimately open with somebody. It terrified him down to his very core, but, at the same time, comforted him in a way that he was unable to describe. The cicadas begin to quiet down. It must have been getting late. 

“So you’re okay with it? With me?” Moomintroll’s voice was soft, quiet, hopeful. 

“Yes, yes of course.” 

“I’m very glad,” 

And with that, no more was said. Instead, Moomintroll folded up the checkerboard and gently placed it in its respectful box. When he closed the box, the air around it got sucked up inside, and it made a strange noise. Snufkin laughed. Moomintroll did, too. The noise wasn’t that funny at all, but the two laughed anyways. Snufkin felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and his stomach hurt so bad he wished he could stop, but his body just refused and he kept going, not even making any noise. His mouth was wide open, and he couldn’t even  _ breathe  _ and it hurt  _ so bad  _ but he didn’t mind very much, not much at all. Because Moomintroll was in the same state, clutching his middle and doubled over. He had dropped the checkerboard box onto the floor with a dull thud a few moments ago, and he took a few wobbly steps to feebly pick it up. 

“This is so dumb!” He whimpered. Snufkin couldn’t tell whether he was referring to the situation or the noise. He agreed anyways. 

Snufkin had left soon after they stopped playing checkers, saying that it was getting late and he needed to go to bed. It was only about 9:00, and he wasn’t tired at all. In fact, his whole body seemed to be quaking with some sort of energy he had no idea was there. It shook his bones and tendons and every single tooth in his mouth until he was basically rattling as he walked across the bridge, boots clicking on the wooden surface. He tried to focus on his surroundings-- the gurgle of the river, the soft rustle in the grass as it waved to and fro, the family of wrens in his pear tree murmuring their gentle goodnights. But he couldn’t stay still. 

He took a deep breath of summer air, closing his eyes tight. Maybe he needed some time to himself. Yes, yes, that was it… He just needed a little bit of alone time right now. That was why he felt so itchy and uncomfortably hot around Moomin all the time, that was why he couldn’t get his mind off of his friend, that was why he was constantly, physically unable to just push the troll from the deepest corners of his head. He just needed to snap out of this whole silly ordeal; it was just the seasons changing and the past few days of being with others instead of in comfortable solitude. That was it. This would pass, Snufkin thought forcefully. 

In the back of his mind, visions of Moomin’s red-stained paws from the party flashed across his vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vaycay in 2 weeks !!! me n the fellas are goin on a lil 6 hour rd trip and then spending the weekend at the beach!!


	4. the moonlight looks nice on your skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice dip in the spring a few miles from Moominhouse is enough to clear anybody's mind, really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey qts,,,, i return

_ Tink!  _

The rock hit Moomin’s window with a louder sound than Snufkin had expected, and he felt sick when he thought he had broken the glass. However, the pane remained its perfect, singular,  _ solid  _ sheet, and Snufkin was still left in lonely, dark silence. 

Maybe once more wouldn’t hurt. 

It was a little past midnight, and Snufkin had just arrived back in the valley from a strenuous two-week trip. The goal was to spend some much needed time alone and collect his thoughts, however, he just found himself longing desperately for his best friend.

Snufkin picked up a small pebble from the cold earth, turning it over once, twice, three times in his palm. For luck, maybe. Or maybe he just liked the way it felt against his paw. He didn’t know. Slowly, he raised his arm, pebble secured tightly in his fist, and then hurled the thing forward. Up, up, up it went, making a little whizzing sound as it cut through the air. 

_ Tink!  _

It hit the glass hard, bouncing back and falling with a quiet, muffled thud into the grass below. Quietly, Snufkin waited, hitching his breath and tensing his muscles so that he didn’t even make the  _ slightest  _ noise, as he was hoping to hear shuffling from Moomintroll’s room, to hear the window lock open. But no, still silence. 

Snufkin groaned weakly as he stooped down once more, dropping slowly to his knees to run his fingers through the grass in search of a sizeable pebble to once again throw at Moomin’s window. Maybe he ought to go and rap at the glass instead, it’d be much easier. But that wouldn’t be very romantic, and Snufkin, for reasons unknown, felt oddly… Whimsical tonight. He didn’t want to do anything the easier, less exciting way. 

Carefully, he scooped up a rather large pebble, examining it. It was chilly, just like the dewy sweetgrass it had been uprooted from, and there were bits of dirt and greenery clinging to it.  _ Third time’s the charm,  _ Snufkin thought dully, readying himself to launch the rock into the dark.

He flung the dirty old thing from his grip, expecting to hear yet another  _ tink  _ against the glass, but instead… 

“Yeowch!  _ Who  _ is down there, stop throwing rocks at me! Little My I swear on my tail if you’re behind this I’ll--” Snufkin yipped in surprise and looked up, a little flustered. There, leaning over his window, face etched deep with annoyance, stood Moomintroll. As soon as he laid eyes on Snufkin, however, his features softened a great deal, and he began to excitedly crawl out of his window, being quiet and careful as he shut it before beginning the journey down the rungs.

Snufkin watched as his best friend creaked down the ladder, going at a cautious one-paw-at-a-time, probably still drowsy from being woken up so suddenly. Finally, he made it to the floor, hopping down the last three rungs and landing onto the dark earth below with a muffled  _ pomf.  _

“ _ Snufkin,”  _ he breathed, and his eyes glimmered like stars and his voice was far too affectionate and he moved closer and closer until his paw was close enough to gently reach out and touch Snufkin’s arm.

“Hullo,” the boy in question said quietly, trying his very hardest to breathe correctly. 

“You’re back,” 

“Yes, I am, sorry for leaving so abruptly. I hope I didn’t worry you,” 

“Oh, you know you  _ always  _ worry me when you leave, but that doesn’t matter anymore I suppose. Because you’re right here.” Moomin smiled sweetly, and for a moment it seemed as though he would pull Snufkin close and hug him tight. But he didn’t. And for some reason, Snufkin wished he  _ had.  _

“Well, I suppose you’re right, I  _ am  _ back,” Snufkin decided to ignore the sentiment dripping from his dear friend’s voice, for he knew if he paid attention to it he’d grow far too soft. “and I’d like for you to come with me.” 

“Oh, where are we going? Shall I pack?” Moomin asked, withdrawing his paw from the side of Snufkin’s arm and taking a step backward, indicating that he could climb up the ladder again and quickly prepare himself.

“No, no, it’s not a big trip or anything. I just want to go for a dip in that spring, you know the one. It’s all surrounded by clover and hogweed, and there are moss and lichen growing on almost every single rock and tree. We used to go when we were younger, don’t you remember?” 

“Of course I do, I was afraid that I’d drown and you said you wouldn’t let go of me,” Moomintroll said matter of factly. Snufkin felt blood rush to pool in his cheeks as Moomin began to walk forward. Had he truly said that? 

“I said that?” He asked aloud, falling into step next to the boy. 

“Yes. Do you know what happened next?” Moomin turned to him with this curious expression, and his eyes were blazing, burning, so bright and wonderful in the dark that Snufkin felt every inch of himself  _ long  _ to gaze into them forever. They were so impish, twinkling with silk-spun stories and laughter clinging to every eyelash. 

“What happened next?” Snufkin breathed. 

“You swam right to the middle, the deepest part, and then you let go of my paws and went right back to the shore. I didn’t talk to you for the rest of the day.” 

“Oh,” was all Snufkin could manage for a moment. He was so enamored with the troll that he could barely even process the story. “I remember that, I felt guilty for weeks afterward,” he chuckled, thinking fondly back to the much simpler time when they were merely the best of friends in the  _ entire  _ world and they both believed it would never change. Maybe that was naive, Snufkin thought with a deepset pain in his chest; he was certainly changing. He felt so strange around Moomin, now, and he wondered how much longer he could stay friends with someone who made his palms sweat and his brain go foggy and his heart thump far too fast. It just plain scared him, really. 

But seeing Moomintroll as he half walked, half skipped down the path the two were headed made Snufkin realize that he could never, not in his entire  _ life  _ leave him for good. Maybe it would hurt and be strange, but Snufkin was willing and ready to make this sacrifice. Moomin was his very best friend, and the Mumrik had never yearned for anybody as much as he did the sweet little troll.

The night was very warm, the air all thick and pleasantly heavy. Snufkin could feel it on his skin, or perhaps that was just Moomintroll’s paw as it curled ‘round his own, their fingers softly intertwining and squeezing together. In fact, Snufkin realized midway through the air wasn’t warmer than it usually was at all during summertime twilights; it was  _ him.  _ His cheeks were flushed all the way to his ears, and the back of his neck was just as tickled. Any place Moomin touched absolutely  _ burned,  _ as though there was fire in the pads of his paws, as though he were the sun itself, shining rays of light directly onto Snufkin’s skin and burning him until he felt as though he would die. It hurt, it was so terribly uncomfortable, and the Mumrik’s skin was left in blisters and third-degree burns anywhere Moomintroll dare trace his humble caress. 

So Snufkin held  _ tighter  _ to Moomin’s paw, and Moomin, in return, shuffled closer until their arms were pressed hard against one another and their hips bumped together. 

“It’s a lot nicer than I remember it to be,” Moomintroll stooped down and placed his paw into the water, disturbing it a little bit. “the water looks clearer,”

“Probably because when we were younger you used to fling the loose moss into the water until it just looked swampy.” Snufkin grinned, sitting down on a rock near the water’s edge and gazing at the troll through his peripheral. Until it wasn’t anymore, and he was full-on  _ staring  _ at Moomin’s fur as it shifted in the light. It was very pretty.

“Ah, right,” Moomin stood up straight, laughing. “I just thought maybe the moss would attract wood sprites.” 

“That’s silly,” 

“I know, it was so stupid!” 

“I said silly, not stupid. Moomin, nothing you do is ever stupid, no matter if I tease you or not about it,” Snufkin surprised himself with how  _ soft  _ his voice was, and it was evident that Moomin was equally as dumbfounded, for he turned and locked eyes with the Mumrik in a way that neither of them had seen before. 

“Oh,” was all he managed to breathe. The two looked away rather quickly, and the silence between them grew. It was awkward and gross and Snufkin nearly threw himself into the spring just to cease himself from burning up into a pile of ash and a green hat on the spot. It lasted so long that Snufkin fretted he had ruined the entire moment, and they would just have to head home because now it was far too uncomfortable. 

That is, until, he heard the water being disturbed, and turned around to find Moomin sliding in, careful not to slip on the mud. 

“Well?” He asked expectantly, doing a lap around the spring’s perimeter once he was submerged. 

“Wh--yeah, yeah, hold on,” Snufkin said softly, gingerly removing his hat and hanging it on a particularly low branch that jutted out from a dead tree. Next, he bent over to quickly untie his boots kicked them off before pulling his green dress over his head, leaving him in the blouse Moominmamma had given him last summer and his tattered old corduroy pants, hung up with equally old black suspenders, which he slid over his shoulders until they hung limply at the side of his legs. As he moved to unbutton his blouse, he was a little miffed to find that there was one-- he had sewn it on a little while ago, it was a tad bigger than the rest-- that just  _ wouldn’t  _ become undone. He worked it for a few minutes, ‘til his fingers began to burn red, and his cheeks grew hot with frustration.

“Need help over there?” Moomintroll teased from the spring, and Snufkin shot him a half-hearted glare. 

“Shut up, you don’t wear blouses.” 

“Very fair. I’ll help,” more water sounds as Moomin hoisted himself up onto the bank, his fur waterlogged and hanging heavily off of his body; his fur swayed with each movement, glinting in the gentle glow of the waxing moon. Without his boots, Snufkin stood almost a full head smaller than Moomin. When had he grown so much? Was he always that tall? Snufkin remembered a time where he was much taller than the troll; it was quite cute when he’d have to lift up his whole snout just to look the Vagabond in the eyes, and both of them were quite sure their height difference would remain steady throughout their lives. 

“What’s on your mind?” Moomintroll’s soft voice wrecked Snufkin’s train of thought. He blinked out of his stupor and, instead of gazing upwards at Moomin’s softly flicking ears, he focused his attention on the troll’s deft fingers, working away at that silly old button. 

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” 

“Clearly. Care to tell me about what?”

“About how when wet, you smell like--” Snufkin was about to deadpan a lie, but the troll quickly swatted his cheek wetly before going back to work. 

“And don’t you tell me I smell like a wet dog. You’ve used that line on me one too many times to get out of my questions. If you say it one more time I  _ will  _ pick you up and toss you aside like a ragdoll,”

“Try me.” 

“You’re changing the subject. If you don’t want to tell me, just say, or else I’ll be curious forever,” Moomin laughed, tilting his ears with the effort of trying to slide that rediculous button through its respective hole. 

“I…” Snufking pondered whether or not he should say something as intimate as  _ I was thinking about how tall you’ve gotten, and how now I have to look up at you. Of how wonderfully you’ve grown, and how beautifully you’ve matured. _

Then again, that isn’t very intimate to any regular creature, so Snufkin just went out and said exactly that. 

Of course, he never counted on the fact that Moomintroll  _ wasn’t  _ any regular creature, and watched, transfixed, as the tips of his ears glowed a soft peach pink. 

“Yes,” he said quietly, softly. “yes I have grown. I used to have to look up at you when we spoke, didn’t I? I remember that.” There was a pause, and his tone grew careful. “Of course, I looked up to you in more than the literal sense,” 

Snufkin swallowed hard. 

“How do you mean?” His throat felt very scratchy. Moomintroll had slipped the oversized button through but continued working at a languid pace. They were both staring at his paws. 

“Well, you know,” Moomin chuckled. “I thought you were the most intelligent, most wise, most divine creature in the whole world. I thought you knew everything, thought you had seen everything, thought you could do everything.”

“You make it seem like you were in love with me or something,” Snufkin teased, trying oh so desperately to lift the tension. If he felt any more he might burst. 

Moomin, however, did not reply, and instead slipped the last button through its hold in Snufkin’s blouse quite silently. 

“There,” his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “your blouse is all undone,” 

“I only asked for help with the one button,” Snufkin felt his palms begin to sweat, and his voice grew terribly hoarse. 

“I know.” 

The air hung very heavy, and Snufkin  _ dared  _ trail his gaze up to meet Moomin’s baby blue eyes. They were staring at him with this glazed over softness, this  _ look  _ he had never really seen before. Or felt. 

For a moment, just a split second, the Mumrik’s breath hitched and he yearned to kiss his dear friend. 

“I’m going back into the water, and  _ no  _ I will not help with any more of your clothes,” Moomintroll’s voice, though a little strained, went back to a joking manner, and he smiled over his shoulder while he padded through the wet grass and slipped back into the water quite gracefully. Snufkin only let out a single, breathy laugh, and shucked his blouse off slowly, catching it with one paw before slinging it over the branch. 

Suspenders, trousers, and undergarments were soon to follow, and the Mumrik walked carefully to the water’s edge. Slowly, he lowered his body into it, expecting a chill to shoot up his spine, but it was  _ nice.  _ The water lapped against his skin, warm and comfortable from the summer’s heat, a lot clearer than he remembered it to be in his younger days. Moomin swam languidly over, pushing the water slowly out of the way. 

“I do believe my scars are finally fading,” Snufkin looked down to his chest, running his finger along the twin lines that ran across his skin. Surely enough, he could only glimpse them if he tilted just so until the white of them glistened. 

“Whoever you had do it certainly did a very good job,” Moomin smiled, almost reaching out his own paw. Snufkin saw as he stopped himself and drew his paw back in. He hummed an agreement. 

“Ah, Moomin, look,” Snufkin said, placing his paws palm up below the water, gazing at the fur ‘round his wrist and forearm as it began to float. “‘s like my fur turned liquid,”

“Top this,” Moomin deadpanned, swimming back a bit, and Snufkin laughed. From the neck down, his entire body seemed to have expanded twice its normal size with the way the water made his fur flow about him like that. Snufkin swam backward until his back met the side of the spring, sinking his toes into the silt beneath them. It was soft and squishy, and his foot got lost in it almost immediately. He gazed quietly as particles of muck rose up and around his calf, swirling in the water and creating a cloud of sorts, one that completely obscured the lower half of his leg. Slowly, slowly, it dissipated, until he could see clearly once more.

“Where did you go?” Moomin’s voice cut through the Vagabond’s conscious. He looked up, noticing how the silver of the moon caught in the tangles of Moomintroll’s fur. 

“What?” 

“Where did you go, Snuf? For those two weeks?” His voice was very timid, as though he were afraid of the answer, as though he felt he might anger Snufkin. He could never anger Snufkin.

“Away,” Snufkin responded simply. 

“ _ Where  _ away, though? And why? You…” The troll looked down, baby blue eyes hiding beneath his lashes timidly. “...You didn’t warn me. And I was scared.” 

At this, Snufkin truly felt himself soften. His eyebrows knitted together ever so gently, and he felt this ache in his chest that he was  _ not  _ expecting. It pulled, tugged, and pushed just as the tide does to the shore. He felt he would drown in all of this hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. He didn’t expect  _ that  _ either. From the look on Moomin’s face, neither did he. But despite how bashful Snufkin now felt, he refused to back away, refused to change the subject, refused to break eye contact. “I’m sorry,” he said, a little louder. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I just-- I just got scared of something,” he swallowed hard. “and I had to run away. Just for a little while, at least.” 

“What scared you so much that you had to tuck your tail and leave? Surely, Snufkin, you don’t believe in evil little beasties or dragons or witches with big pots that cook you into stew!” Moomintroll’s voice had raised, and his eyes glazed over with frustration. Snufkin backed away, a little taken aback at his friend’s sudden outburst. “Please, all I ask is that you just tell me, when I had to hear it from Stinky I had thought for sure that was the end!” His voice grew less angry and more pleading, and the hurt that was weighing Snufkin’s chest now bloomed deep inside of him, coiling around his gut and strangling him. 

“What did Stinky say?” He asked quietly, swimming slowly towards his friend and resting a palm on the upset boy’s forearm. 

“Well,” Moomintroll sniffed, now chuckling gently. He had calmed down completely, and his face had softened, melting from frustration to a very odd sort of sadness that Snufkin hadn’t ever seen before. “he told me you were fed up with me and had left for good,” he turned away, bashful. 

Snufkin swallowed hard. He  _ had  _ left because of Moomin, but not for the reason Stinky had made up. No, he had left because he was frightened of how often he found himself thinking of his best friend. Of how infatuated he slowly became. He wasn’t used to it, and he himself knew perfectly well that admiring someone as much as he did could  _ not  _ be healthy. At all. 

“I could never be fed up with you, Moomintroll,” the name tasted like honey on his lips as he murmured it, staring with glazed eyes at the way his friend’s fur turned to silk beneath the translucent brown water. 

Silence ensued, and the atmosphere grew heavy and tense. When Snufkin invited Moomintroll to go skinny dipping with him in the light of the moon, he hadn’t expected his words to weigh a million pounds. Clearly, the other hadn’t either, for his breath had hitched for just a moment or so. The water made a very quiet sound as it lapped against the bank. 

“I’m glad,” Moomin finally whispered. And that was it. 

The two had gotten out of the spring a little bit after the whole exchange, and neither of them dared to speak a single word. Snufkin was almost crushed by at all; he wasn’t used to this type of talking. He was so out of balance that he very nearly accepted Moomintroll’s invitation to a sleepover, but he quickly came back to his mind and decided that if he was going to stop feeling so reliant on Moomin, he would have to spend less and less time with him. He’d just have to sleep on that thought for now, but he couldn’t even do  _ that.  _ For, in all of his aching and hurting and thinking, he found himself grow restless. So, he did the next best thing, and calmly sat up in his tent and meditated. 

No, that was a lie. 

Snufkin could hardly  _ stand  _ how stuffy his tent had suddenly grown. His lungs just couldn’t get any air at all, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t  _ breathe at all.  _ And to top it all off, he could hear the way his heart was thumping. It murmured  _ b-bump, b-bump, b-bump, b-bump,  _ a slow, steady rhythm, like the beating of rain against the canvas of his little shelter. It kept whispering to him, telling him things that terrified him, that made him feel so  _ strange,  _ and he wanted to just break through his ribs with the palms of his aching paws and squeeze the damn thing ‘til it grew silent. But he knew he couldn’t, or else he’d ruin the chest he had worked so hard to get. So, instead, he very aggressively kicked his blankets off, eyes misty, and not bothering to put even his smock on over his tank-top and striped boxers. He just had to get  _ out,  _ and he knew exactly where he was going to go. It was almost morning, and the moon was just about to begin her journey down the horizon to let the sun fill the sky. A perfect moment to sit on the hill overlooking the ocean; he could watch the sunrise  _ perfectly _ from there. In fact, he and Moomintroll used to always sneak up there and watch it together, sometimes packing some breakfast or just a big blanket they could snuggle up underneath...

Snufkin tripped over some of the dewy grass he was charging through, nearly falling clean over and landing on the earth below. He caught himself just at the last second, gasping for air as he steadied himself up. No. No, no, no, no,  _ no,  _ he couldn’t think about Moomin right now. 

Snufkin stared down at the soil beneath his bare feet; it was soft, cool, damp. Sweetgrass and clovers kissed his soles and brushed delicately across his ankles in the calm summer breeze. 

And then, with a sudden lurch, he was  _ running.  _ He was running faster than he ever had before, stumbling every so often, nearly sliding several times on the slippery grass that he trudged heavily over. His breathing grew labored, his heart thundering away in his chest for more than one reason. They were the only sounds in the entire valley, the rest of the world standing completely still, as though it were giving him time to realize  _ something.  _ But what was he trying to realize? He didn’t even dare to stop running, not for a single second.

Past a field of marigold and poppy mallows, past Mr. Hemulen’s big beautiful garden, past Snorkmaiden’s house where the weathervane up top spun lazily and the window at the upper floor glowed with dull light. Past a grove of peach trees that Snufkin and Moomintroll frequented, past the stretch of meadow that was heavily perfumed with a splendid array of blooms. The Mumrik wouldn’t stop-- he couldn’t, not now. He was too nervous, too full of this weird, uncomfortable energy. He was frightened. 

Soon enough, though, he had to stop running. That, or he’d be taking a dip tonight in the ice-cold ocean. He just stood on the ledge of that great rolling hill, all lush with grass and cool from the breeze and shade of a very old tree that still stood quite tall and proud. His lungs burned as though on fire, his legs aching in every place they could possibly ache. His heart was blasting away in his chest, pounding against his ribs, threatening to leap from his very body as pain from such an abrupt sprint washed over him. The waves crashed against the little hill, occasionally hitting hard enough to send a spray of cold water dabbling onto Snufkin’s face. On the horizon, the sun was slowly creeping up, draining the stars away one by one. Light poured first onto the sand, then slowly made its way up Snufkin’s body. With each passing second, a slow realization hazed over the Mumrik’s features.

As the sunbeams got snagged in the curls of Snufkin’s hair, his knees buckled and he fell helplessly to the soft ground below and allowed himself to admit that he was in love with Moomintroll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got home from my trip today and my bird flew right to me (even though he was so sleepy!!!!) and gave me little birdie kisses and preened my bangs like he always does to greet me,,,, what a baby boy,, a cutiepie,,,


	5. a storm approaches moominvalley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking strawberries, making jam. The comfort of another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally took me ages to finish this because my mind kept going 2 this one girl and we kept joking abt making out because,,, i do that w all of my friends and like i know i dont have a crush on her but i can naught stop thinkin g of her and it made me stop concentratin >:'-(

It was a fairly overcast Sunday morning, the clouds slowly gathering overhead, not much darker than their average off white but still menacing enough to let the whole valley know that rain was on its way, a promise to quench the meadows’ thirsts and fill the river until it was spilling out onto the banks. 

That would be in a few days, though, and for now, there was only an eerie calm that hung over the entire valley. Everybody was anticipating the first droplet, anticipating the first murmur of thunder, the first hint of lightning. However, the sky simply remained a light grey, the air heavy, and the smell of a promised downpour filled all of Moominvalley-- but nothing more than that.

At least, nothing more than that for a few more days, Snufkin thought as he tipped his head back, holding onto the brim of his hat to keep it from slipping off of his head. The tall grass he was standing in tickled at his ankles and brushed against his fingertips, waving with the breeze. Maybe he’d need to find a cave to take shelter in soon or retreat for a few days to a different place; he knew somewhere not too far away, a little village that had fairly cheap inns and several kindhearted people who would let him stay out of the rain for free (and spot him a meal, too).

Of course, he could always just stay in Moominhouse as he usually did, but due to recent occurrences, he was too afraid. The revelation that he truly was in  _ love  _ with Moomintroll was hitting him in waves, each one more powerful than the last, pushing against his chest just as the ocean beat against the cliffside. He prayed that the feeling would go away, that he’d be able to just  _ get over it  _ and move on-- he truly did value Moomin’s friendship above all else and thinking that he could ever lose the troll ensnared him in fear’s icy grip. 

Though, he thought as he tipped his head back down and continued his stroll through the meadow, maybe if he spent more time with the boy all of those silly feelings would drain and he’d be just fine. But, then again, if he spent more time with Moomin he may grow  _ tired  _ of him, and he truly didn’t want that to happen. 

Now, Snufkin was just neck-deep in hot water. 

Lose Moomin as a friend, or chance being emotionally vulnerable? Neither were very favorable. 

Thankfully, Snufkin didn’t need to dwell on such pesky thoughts for much longer, because he heard his name being called from behind him, followed by a surprised yelp. Startled, he turned, though didn’t see anyone. Maybe he had finally lost his marbles. 

Then, Moomintroll, looking very disheveled, picked himself up off of the ground and could now be seen through the tall grass. Snufkin stifled a giggle, realizing that the boy must have tripped. 

“Snufkin! Snuuuufkiin!” He yelled, coming closer and closer, though he was running quite fast, and now he was five feet away, and suddenly--

“...Hullo, Moomin.”

“Sorry, Snuf,” 

Moomintroll smiled apologetically at Snufkin, who was currently, sitting up after being knocked flat on his back from a troll barreling at top speed directly towards him. The collision had knocked the wind clean out of Snufkin’s lungs, and he took a moment to regain his breath. 

“What are you so urgent about?” He asked, picking up his hat from where it had landed. He decided to keep sitting on the ground, letting the flowers and grass fully envelop him. They curved over the two boys, wrapping them in a sort of grassy dome-- nobody on the outside would be able to see them. It was like a private little nook, just for the two of them. Absently, Moomin reached out and took one of Snufkin’s paws in his own, idly tracing the lines of his palm with his fuzzy white pointer finger. Snufkin felt thrills shoot up and down his spine. 

“I was just thinking-- it’s going to rain in a few days, and the storm is going to be  _ big  _ I can feel it. You can feel it too, right?” He yammered. 

“Yeah,” Snufkin replied quite simply. His eyes must have been brimming with stars he was in such a daze. The way the troll’s digit carefully brushed over the skin of his palm made his heart race, and the fur on the back of his neck stood straight up. But instead of wanting to pull back, Snufkin kind of wanted…  _ More.  _ And that scared him. But he stayed put nonetheless. 

“The storm may ruin lots of plants-- in fact, Mr. Hemulen is boarding up, putting protection over his greenhouse and little platforms and tarps over his garden so that his flowerbeds won’t get pummeled like last time.” Moomin’s finger ran up to trace the creases of Snufkin’s wrist, then back down to his palm. “So I think we should go strawberry picking before the rain ruins all of the good strawberry plants.” 

Snufkin blinked, looking up. When Moomintroll said “strawberry,” it sounded like “straw-bry,” and truly, it was one of the most precious things the Mumrik had ever heard.

“We should go  _ what  _ picking?” He teased, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile. 

“Strawberry picking.” 

“Say that again?” 

“Oh, dry up,” Moomin rolled his eyes, ears flapping back and forth with embarrassment. A lovely shade of pink bled through the fur on his cheeks; he was so cute when he blushed, Snufkin thought dreamily. 

“Anyways, yes, of course, I’d love to. I’ve been meaning to take you anyways, we always do that this time of year,” Snufkin smiled. 

“Exactly! Except this year, I think we should make jam with the strawberries instead of just eating them,” Moomin stood up, pulling Snufkin up with him as he did. “I don’t know how, but Mamma does, maybe she could help us,” 

“Hopefully. I don’t know how either,” 

“You don’t know how to cook  _ anything,”  _

“And you’re saying you do?” Snufkin raised an eyebrow, playfully nudging Moomin in the ribs. He laughed, a soft sweet sound that warmed the Mumrik’s chest in a way that scared him. 

“So mean, Snufkin! Though I suppose you have a point,” he hummed, linking arms with Snufkin as they began to walk towards the edge of the Forest of Witches. There was a little clearing, not too deep into the Forest, that had the most  _ beautiful  _ and fat strawberries you’d ever seen. 

“Strange, you’ve lived in a house your whole life and never once have you ever truly known how to cook!” 

“That isn’t all true!” Moomin flicked his tail, furrowing his eyebrows. “I know how to make your favorite kind of stew,” his voice softened a little. Snufkin looked over to see that he had turned his head away in the other direction. He did, didn’t he? It was one of the only things he knew how to make. 

“You got me there,” Snufkin breathed, quickly looking at the ground, hiding his face with the brim of his hat. He unlinked their arms, instead using his to hold his middle protectively. Something about the tone of Moomin’s voice made him feel all too vulnerable.   
The rest of the walk was silent, though Snufkin’s discomfort soon melted away. His arms dropped to his sides, swinging to and fro languidly. Sometimes, the back of his paw would brush softly against Moomin’s, and his heart would jumpstart in his chest, telling him to _run away._ But something about it made him feel as though he were soaring, so he intertwined his fingers with Moomin’s, and squeezed tight.

The air in the clearing smelled sweet just at is always had during the summertime. It didn’t take long at all to find big patches of fat, juicy strawberries, colored bright crimson against the cool greens of the grass.

“I forgot my basket,” Moomin suddenly piped up, turning towards Snufkin with a look of comical surprise. He was so melodramatic, Snufkin thought. How endearing. 

“Don’t worry about that, we can just use my hat. Plus, I’ve got tons and tons of pockets, and if I lift my dress like this--” Snufkin raised the hem of his dress, forming a bowl-like shape with the fabric. “--we can use it as a basket.” 

“They’ll get cooties all over them,” Moomin made a face, playfully sticking out his tongue. 

“Fine, just use your grunky little paws, I’m sure those are so much cleaner than my dress,” Snufkin sighed, slapping the back of his paw to his forehead for emphasis. 

“Yeah, they are! I know that for a fact because I washed them just before I left! When have you washed your dress, Snufkin?” 

There was a pause, and after a moment or two, neither of the boys could contain their stifled laughter and they bubbled over with giggles and snorts. None of what they said was funny in any way, shape, or form, but for some strange reason, it was all  _ hilarious  _ at the same time _.  _ That happened sometimes; the most mundane of things would drive them over the edge, and they’d be clutching their sides, absolutely dying with laughter, bodies shaking with guffaws and chuckles. Perhaps best friends were just like that. Perhaps it was just the way the moments went, the way the air felt, the way the atmosphere laid itself.  _ Maybe, even,  _ the back of Snufkin’s mind said in a very quiet voice,  _ maybe it’s love.  _

That tiny voice was snuffed out, however, because the very notion that Moomintroll could ever fall in love with Snufkin was far too silly. And Snufkin felt his chest constrict uncomfortably and realizing that nothing could ever happen between them crashed into him all too hard and he nearly toppled over from the weight. He wanted to go back to his tent. 

Of course, though, that would let the other know that something was wrong, so he just swallowed his issue and knelt down near a tree, the farthest one away from where Moomin was picking strawberries and began plucking some of the bright red fruits from their stems, taking off his hat and plopping them inside. 

From his peripheral, Snufkin saw Moomintroll stand, paws overflowing with strawberries. He padded over to the hat, paws making soft noises on the grass below, and let all of his spoils tumble out into the makeshift basket. 

“Ah, so you’ve decided my clothes aren’t as full of cooties as you think?” Snufkin teased, throwing a small strawberry at Moomin’s head, who rolled his eyes. 

“Please, they’re twice as full of ‘em than I originally thought,” he deadpanned. 

“Then why are you putting food in them? Checkmate,” 

“Don’t you ‘checkmate’ me just yet, I’m only using your smelly hat because I’ve

probably already got your cooties,” Moomintroll rolled his eyes once more. Snufkin silently thought that if he rolled them one more time, they’d fall right out of his head. 

“What do you mean by that?” He asked, pretending like what his dear friend just said wasn’t…. Strangely cute. 

“I mean I’ve known you for far too long! We’ve shared beds, shared toothbrushes-- accidentally, of course-- shared clothes, shared forks and spoons and plates…” He rambled on, standing with one paw on his hip and the other waving about for emphasis. “Mamma used to say we were joined at the hip, and I guess she was right.” His expression softened, as did his tone, and Snufkin could see the way his eyes glazed over with a fond memory. “We did practically everything together, didn’t we?” He nudged Snufkin’s head with his hip. 

“I suppose we did,” The Mumrik replied slowly, voice very soft. 

Silence befell the pair, though it was a sort of understood quiet, one that didn’t  _ need  _ to be broken. So they didn’t break it. It lingered heavy in the air, heavier than the storm clouds that were getting darker by the hour over their heads. Moomin had knelt down besides Snufkin, helping him pick strawberries. Their foreheads kept bumping together, paws touching, arms pressed up against one another. Slowly, their tails intertwined, and Snufkin felt his entire body ache for more, to be closer, to be warmer, to  _ kiss Moomintroll right there in that clearing.  _

Then, he looked over, and Moomin was just staring at him with big blue eyes and an unreadable expression. And Snufkin felt himself lean in a little bit closer, turning his body to face his dear friend. His paw itched to reach out and touch the boy’s face, and so it did. It raised oh so slowly, the tips of his paw pads just  _ barely  _ brushing against the troll’s cheek. It was soft and warm, so Snufkin pressed his fingers to it then slowly slid them up until his entire palm was cradling the boy’s face. 

“Snufkin--” Moomintroll whispered, and his eyes fluttered closed. 

And then Snufkin woke up. And his common sense rushed in and forced his head from inching any closer.

“We should get going,” he fumbled clumsily with his words, taking his paw back and holding it tight to his chest. There were shivers running all over every inch of his body, and he was sure that his legs were completely useless as of right now. 

“Yeah, right, let’s go,” Moomintroll, equally flustered, scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, turning away and laughing uncomfortably. What had just happened? Surely they wouldn’t have actually kissed? And what if they  _ had?  _ What next? Snufkin could hear his heart pounding away against his ribs, as though yearning for him to get closer once more, to finish what he had started. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. That would be wrong. 

Right? 

He swallowed hard, pushing the thought to the far reaches of his mind. 

The walk back to Moominhouse was awfully quiet. The air was still heavy with the promise of rain, clouds continuing to swell, though they had stopped growing darker and were instead at a standstill, looming ominously over the valley. It smelled nice, though. And it was much cooler, too, the breeze pleasant as it danced across the Vagabond’s cheeks and nose. 

As the two boys trudged on, the sweetgrass kissed their ankles and some even got caught in the laces of Snufkin’s boots. Whilst looking down, Snufkin even noticed that a clover had gotten caught in the fur on Moomintroll’s lower calf, along with a tiny dandelion. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he bit it back and kept a straight face.

“Mamma will be pleased with how many strawberries we’ve picked,” Moomin said sheepishly, holding Snufkin’s heavy hat gingerly with both of his paws. “the jam with be really good. The more ingredients we have, the thicker they’ll be, so I expect this year will be one of our best,” 

“Is that so? I could’ve guessed, I suppose,” Snufkin replied, eager to pretend as though nothing had ever happened. 

“No you couldn’t have, you can’t cook for the life of you. Let alone make jam.” Moomin smiled, offering a playful bump with his hip to Snufkin’s. 

“I can cook just fine, thank you very much!” 

“ _ Puh-lease,  _ putting a fish on a stick and then setting it on fire is  _ not  _ cooking. It’s just arson.” 

“What about my soup!” Snufkin shot back, mock anger heavy in his voice. 

“Ok, fine, you make very nice hot water with solid potato chunks in it,” Moomin sighed, shaking his head. He was smiling, though, and it was nice. Snufkin was eternally grateful that they hadn’t lingered on their little… Encounter. In fact, the moment  _ scared  _ him. Petrified him right down to his very core, so much so that his paws began to tingle and stress built up in a taut, heavy ball right in his belly. He hated it, but for some reason, he also  _ loved  _ it. 

The tickle of Moomin’s breath on his mouth, being so close that the tip of his nose brushed gently against velvet soft fur. He craved it, and he  _ hated  _ that he did. He didn’t want to want that sort of closeness, that sort of intimacy. But Snufkin had always been the type to follow his heart rather than his head. 

He wished he weren’t. 

The kitchen smelled wonderful as always. Moominmamma wasn’t even cooking anything, and yet the entire room smelled of freshly baked loaves of bread. Of lavender and rosemary, lemonade and raspberry juice and peaches and cherries by the  _ basket.  _ It was warm, too, seeing as it was the room containing the Moomins’ central heating system as well as the stove, which was currently heating up. Moomintroll and Snufkin had just arrived, showing off their spoils to a rather delighted Moominmamma. She gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, the kind that only a mother could give, and took Snufkin’s hat to spill the strawberries out over the central island in the kitchen. Then, she scooped up the rest from Snufkin’s dress, which he had used to make a makeshift basket out of. 

By the end of it all, almost the entire countertop was covered with the bright red fruits.

“Thank you two, you did an excellent job. These strawberries look extra tasty, too, nice and fat.”

“Would you like us to help you make the jam, Mamma?” Snufkin piped up, stepping closer as to reach out and pick his hat gingerly up from off the countertop. He flipped it and placed it curtly right back onto his mess of strawberry brown curls, feeling much more comfortable with it back in its rightful spot. 

“Would you please? That would help me quite a lot,” the older Moomin smiled, looking over each of them fondly. The pair smiled and nodded, turning to face each other as Mamma turned away to fetch them both aprons. 

“We’ll first need to cut the berries,” Mamma began. “it always takes me so long to do this, but since I have help, I think it won’t take nearly as long,” she turned to the two of them, beaming sweetly and offering them both aprons. Moomin’s had a little rose pattern on it, and the color suited him quite nicely as he tied it ‘round his waist. Snufkin shook the thought of his head, looking down at his own-- baby pink with cursive white font that read  _ kiss the cook  _ right in the middle. Snufkin noticed that as he unfolded the apron it was a different style, the kind that you first had to tie to your neck before you did your waist. 

“Moomin, would you help me?” He asked without thinking, though he wished he could swallow those words right back up as the events from earlier came flying back, hitting him smack dab in the face. Moomintroll seemed to feel this way, too, for instead of simply nodding and complying, perhaps picking up some conversation the two could share while making jam, he choked out a small “o-okay” and set to work cautiously. 

Snufkin could feel his warm breath tickling the back of his neck, his soft fingers when they made contact with him. Then, slowly, with a sort of tenderness that one could only expect from a lover, he  _ traced Snufkin’s spine with his index finger  _ and it was slow and it was careful and it raised goosebumps on Snufkin’s arms and for a few seconds he just couldn’t breathe. Moominmamma, blissfully unaware at the goings-on happening right in front of her, took out a few small paring knives and laid the strawberries out across the countertop. 

“Topping them is always such a pain for some reason. Sometimes I wish we could just leave the leafy parts in,” she giggled, her voice pleasantly calm as usual. Moomintroll tied a little bow with the cream-colored fabric on Snufkin’s apron. 

“Extra fiber,” the toll offered, and his mother hummed a laugh. Snufkin walked to the other side of the island, picking up one of the paring knives and dragging a small pile of strawberries over to his side.

As he began to work, the atmosphere in the kitchen lightened subtly. Moominmamma was a nice buffer, and she thankfully provided plenty of topics for them all to talk about. She also left the room for a moment, leaving the two in awkward silence, but came back with that old gramophone in her arms and setting it down on a clean area they wouldn’t be using. The record began to play, and every bit of awkwardness melted away to the lilting voice of Louis Armstrong.

Snufkin was eternally grateful for her presence at that moment. 

By the time all of the strawberries were topped and cut up into small chunks, all three were laughing jovially; there was no tension whatsoever in the air. 

“Eugh, look at my paws Snufkin,” Moomintroll snorted, holding out his arms and wiggling the digits on his paw, palm up so Snufkin could see the way the red seeped into them, turning his fur pink. “looks like I’ve murdered someone,” he laughed. Snufkin held up his own, revealing a few chunks of strawberry sticking to the spaces between his fingertips. They pressed their paws together at the palm, laughing over the stickiness, intertwining their fingers from across the countertop. Snufkin shimmied around the island, still holding tight to Moomintroll’s paws until they were face to face. It happened quite casually, both of them laughing and swaying back and forth in a sort of dance-like way to the music coming quietly from the gramophone.

“You two haven’t changed a single bit,” Moominmamma’s soft voice cut through their amused giggles, and the two turned to her. Her sweetpea green eyes glittered in golden rays of afternoon light that filtered into the kitchen. “still the best of friends after all these years. You remind me of two trolls I know.” she smiled when Snufkin and Moomin cocked their heads to the side, slowly releasing each other’s paws. “You’re  _ exactly  _ like Moominpappa and me when  _ we  _ were younger. We were best of friends too, at one point. Before we fell in love…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and she wore an expression that Snufkin had never really seen before. Her gaze softened, eyebrows curved up. The whisper of a smile tugged at her mouth, and the tips of her ears were peachy pink. “Though, if I’m being honest, I think we were in love long before we knew,” she turned to face them, the expression having left, instead being replaced with a motherly smile. “love is very fickle like that. It never really happens at first glance; that’s attraction. No, it takes time, and sometimes you don’t even realize it.” She turned to place a large saucepan of water onto the stove, though she didn’t put on the heat just yet. “It’s there, though. In subtle touches and lingering gazes. In the tiniest of gestures, like casually reading to one or doing the other’s hair. Intimacy is more than just blatant romance and attraction-- it’s much deeper than that.” 

And then, she fell silent and began to rummage around the kitchen for a lemon and the container of sugar in the pantry. Snufkin’s throat felt dry, and Moomin wasn’t saying a single word as he scooped up strawberries from the countertop to put them into a bowl. 

“I need to macerate these strawberries now, so once I pour the sugar into the bowl and toss the fruit it will need to sit about an hour or so,” Mamma commented as she squeezed lemon juice over the bowl and added the sugar. “I can take it from here, I only really needed help cutting up all of these beautiful strawberries you’ve both picked. You’ve been a wonderful help, thank you two,” she smiled sweetly at them, tossing the strawberries so that sugar-coated all of them. Snufkin only nodded and went with Moomintroll to wash his paws in the kitchen sink. The water was warm from the summer heat, and their paws kept bumping and sliding against one another as they scrubbed strawberry juice from them. Something about what she had said earlier truly struck a chord within him and his chest constricted painfully tight. 

“Would you like to come up to my room with me?” Moomintroll turned to face Snufkin, eyes glazed over, ears perked high. Was there… Hope in his expression? 

“Yes, of course,” Snufkin replied stiffly, not entirely sure why he had accepted. He was very afraid of his heart, right now, and though staying with Moomin would feel terribly nice, he was also terribly scared. But it was all said and done, and there was really no point in backing out now that he had already accepted the invitation. 

Moomin’s bed creaked in protest when both he and Snufkin climbed on top of it, Snufkin having already discarded his boots and hat in the corner of the room. At this point, it wasn’t really a rule that he took off his shoes anymore-- it used to be, and he used to avoid sitting on the troll’s bed altogether because he hated rules. But now it was a cozy little habit he had fallen into, even something that he rather enjoyed.

“Do you think the jam will be any good?” Moomin asked, turning to face Snufkin with that same gentle expression Mamma had worn earlier when talking about her youth. 

“Definitely, your mother knows  _ exactly  _ what she’s doing,” Snufkin replied, spreading himself out across the bed. Moomintroll hummed in agreement. 

“I suppose so.” He lay down next to the Mumrik, their paws  _ just  _ brushing together atop the soft sheets. Visions of white paws stained crimson from that night several weeks ago during the summer welcome party flashed in Snufkin’s mind, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. The room felt warm, warmer than it had before, and he could swear he heard his heartbeat. 

Strangely enough, if he concentrated  _ very  _ hard, he could hear Moomintroll’s, too. 

“What do you think Moominmamma meant in telling us that story?” Moomin whispered after a few moments. His voice was so quiet that Snufkin thought at first it was only a breeze. But then he turned his head to face Moomin, and there he was, staring with eyes alight and full of stars. The light coming in through his thin white curtains made his fur glow. 

Snufkin didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *accidentally touches ur hand with mine while we're making jam* oops haha sorry didnt mean to..,,, aha i wont do it again haha,,,, unless,,?


	6. if you eat a firefly, your tongue will turn green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did anyone else's mom used to warn about how eating fireflies will make ur eyes glow yellow,,, or ur tongue will turn like a piss green.,,, because that's what my mom always said
> 
> anyways the pacing on this chapter is really bad i think and it definitely could have been more detailed :-( in all honesty i just don't wanna deal with it anymore so im jus,,, gonna leave it put guhhuhuh im sorry it's a mess!!  
> also sorry for the typos lol it's like 4 am

The sky had darkened so significantly due to the forming clouds that by noon, it looked as though it should be evening. The air was quite muggy, humid from the upcoming downpour and warmed by summer’s kiss. Normally, Snufkin despised days like this. Waking up hot and sticky, fur matted from sweat, hair pressed against his forehead, patches of bright red flush bleeding in through his cheeks and forehead. Clammy hands, heavy bones, it was impossible to get through a humid day. 

However, today it was actually  _ nice.  _ Snufkin inhaled deeply from where he sat at the river’s edge, the scent of an inevitable storm hanging heavy in the cool breeze that danced across his face. As he let his eyelids flutter closed, he heard the rustling of the grasses and wildflowers and trees as they waved to and fro. The trickle of the stream. The chime of Moomintroll’s voice as it called his name, each syllable like a note from a favorite song as it rolled off of his tongue.

Wait, Moomintroll?

Snufkin looked up, almost surprised as he watched the tubby white troll bund towards him ecstatically. He swallowed hard, his heart rate instantly picking up, though he willed it to slow, to calm down.  _ It’s only Moomin,  _ he pleaded with it.  _ nobody too special. Calm down.  _

“Snufkin!” The boy called, waving his paw in a greeting. 

“Moomin,” Snufkin replied nonchalantly. Though he could feel his cheeks already beginning to warm up. And not because of the heat of summer. 

“I came to help you roll your tent up,” he smiled, eyes twinkling. The Mumrik furrowed his eyebrows in reply. 

“Roll my tent up? What for?” He stood, brushing stray pieces of grass from his back and sides. “Kicking me out of the valley?” He snickered, earning a little glare from Moomin. 

“No, stupid,” a white paw reached out and gently flicked Snufkin’s nose, who only laughed louder. “I’m going to help you pack up so you can stay in Moominhouse. While I understand that you need your space, I also understand that this storm could potentially ruin your tent and gear-- and you, for that matter. Pappa was just telling me how terribly huge it’ll be,” 

“Fiddle faddle. You and I both know that I’ll be okay, I always stay in my tent when it rains.” 

“Yes, and what  _ always  _ happens?” Moomin deadpanned, sweeping his arm wide and pointing to Snufkin’s tent for emphasis. Snufkin followed the direction of his index finger until his eyes met with the side of his tent. For a moment, he bit the inside of his cheek and furrowed his brow; what point was the troll trying to make? 

And then, he finally noticed the  _ several  _ patches of different colored canvas, courtesy of Moominmamma. Ah, right. 

For as long as he’d been in the valley, he stayed hidden away inside of his tent for almost  _ every  _ single storm. And two times out of five, a fresh new hole would be ripped into the side of his tent due to how hard the rain or hail was battering into the poor old thing. 

“...You make a very good point,” Snufkin sighed, turning back to face his friend, who had since crossed his arms and was nodding smartly. 

“Precisely. Now, if you’d rather be alone, I’ve got that all covered. You see, Mamma and Pappa will be leaving to stay with Mymble and My, soon.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Mymble has fallen ill, and my parents want to make sure she isn’t alone during the storm,” Moomintroll explained. “they’ll be back when it stops raining, though.”

“And what about Little My? Surely she isn’t going to help, she doesn’t know how to cook or clean for the life of her,” Snufkin wondered aloud. Moomtroll just gave him a strange look. 

“You  _ do  _ realize that they’re sisters, right? And you  _ do  _ understand that sometimes… People care about their siblings?” 

“I--” Snufkin blinked, meeting Moomintroll’s gaze. “Oh.” A smile crept onto his face, and he chuckled at his own blatant stupidity. “Right, I suppose she would be worried. Anyways, so what, the house will be empty?” 

“Except for the two of us!” Moomin exclaimed happily, reaching out and gripping both of Snufkin’s paws with his own. His fur was soft and warm, and Snufkin held on tightly, not really wanting to let go. His stomach flopped when Moomin pulled him closer so that they were nearly nose to nose. This wasn’t uncommon; in fact, they had made it a sort of greeting over time, for they did it so often. But now, it just felt different. Being so close made Snufkin feel sick and on top of the whole world all at once. He felt himself yearning to be  _ closer.  _

“That sounds nice, Moomin,” he breathed, his voice very soft and low and spilling over with a sort of affection that he wasn’t really expecting. The two pulled away, their paws still clasped together, digits intertwined, squeezing tight. Their gaze met, and Moomintroll’s eyes simply had  _ stars  _ burning within them. They were shining so beautifully that the solar system would be jealous, each drop of blue containing a million constellations, a million different universes, a million different eternities, so vast that the Vagabond was afraid that he’d fall in and drown. Snufkin’s nose touched the very end of Moomintroll’s snout.

“S--uh, so I’ll help you pack up then, yeah?” Moomintroll piped up, pulling his paws back and raising them to his chest, ears flapping with the tips turning pink. Snufkin nodded, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but he knew for a fact that Moomin could feel it, too. But there wasn’t any  _ awkwardness, _ that was the really strange thing. It felt so incredibly real, so wonderfully natural and comfortable that Snufkin felt as though he had done the exact same thing a billion times before.

“Right,” Snufkin replied sheepishly, turning to face the other direction as Moomin went to pull the pegs of Snufkin’s tent up. Snufkin shuffled over to join him, quickly ducking inside of his tent to gather up his blanket and pillow, rolling them both up into neat and manageable little bundles and stuffing them inside of his bag. He had left out his tarot cards as well, so he shuffled them together in a neat little pile, though when he checked over he could tell he was missing one, and he felt a sort of panic seize his stomach. He wasn’t completely  _ reliant  _ on the cards but they sure as hell helped. And besides, they were one of the few material possessions that brought him comfort. Frantically, he searched around his tent, eyebrows furrowing, chewing on his lip as he ran his fingers over the canvas floor, digging his paws through his bag to make sure he hadn’t accidentally dropped one in, even checking his box designated to the cards.

Suddenly, Moomin popped his head in, stretching out his arm and offering something in his soft white paw. 

“You must’ve dropped this,” he said, and to Snufkin’s surprise, he had managed to find the missing card. 

“Where did you find that? I thought I had lost it,” Snufkin breathed a heavy sigh of relief, gingerly taking the face-down card in his paws. 

“It was just outside your tent, I suppose the wind must’ve carried it out somehow,” Moomin explained. “what card is it?” 

Snufkin flipped the card and felt his breath hitch in his throat. 

“T-the four of cups,” he choked out, eyes wide, cheeks burning bright. Moomin only nodded and poked his head back out. 

Snufkin looked down at the card; it was  _ not,  _ in fact, the four of cups. He had lied about that. Gingerly, he traced the pad of his index finger over the two words. 

_ The Lovers,  _ the card read. 

Packing up with the help of another wasn’t very difficult much to Snufkin’s great relief. In fact, it was even  _ enjoyable.  _ Moomintroll had started up a conversation first, so he didn’t have to. It was quiet and awkward and forced in the beginning but then… Then it was good. Comfortable, beautiful, familiar, just as it had always been. They fell into a rhythm, one that they had going for years and years. And just for a moment, as Snufkin was tying up the last of his possessions, everything seemed  _ normal  _ and  _ fine  _ and like  _ nothing had changed.  _ But at the same time, his mind kept going back to the tarot card. The Lovers-- a card of relationships. Of yearning. Could it have meant something? And then, jumping from that, Snufkin thought about the almost-kiss when he and Moomin were picking strawberries. Thought about the way Moomintroll’s finger traced his spine as he tied Snufkin’s apron. About how when their eyes met, those baby blues softened just for a split second the Mumrik could swear he saw  _ something  _ deep in the troll’s pupils. And his heart ached. Truly, he wished it didn’t, for it hurt more than anything in the entire universe. 

“Snufkin? Snufkin? Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” Snufkin snapped out of his thoughts as Moomintroll knocked on his head lightly. “Hey, would you look at that, he’s awake.” The troll deadpanned. “How long have you been spacing out on me?” 

“Sorry, sorry, I was just… Thinking of something,” Snufkin murmured, standing up and slinging his knapsack over his shoulders. 

“Care to tell me what you were thinking of?” Moomin prodded, nudging the Mumrik’s waist with his elbow, an impish gleam in his eyes. Snufkin only grimaced. 

“N….no, no. Not really.” He replied dully, feeling as though he were about to be sick right on the spot. Moomin only shrugged and began to walk back to Moominhouse. Snufkin saw the way he almost intertwined their fingers but quickly drew back, as though he were afraid of something. Snufkin longed to reach out and take Moomin’s paw. To squeeze it tight, as though if he let go Moomintroll would fade away. But he knew better than to do something so silly. So he stayed quiet, stayed still, and just kept walking. 

Moominmamma was on the porch, doing a little bit of cross-stitching in that big old wicker rocker. It made a soft squeak as it went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It used to drive Snufkin absolutely mad, but now it was a sound that instantly made him think  _ home.  _

Strange, really, how he went from a Vagabond who had no true home or family (that he knew of) and then  _ suddenly  _ he stumbled into the valley and everything changed. He had everything he’d ever wanted but didn’t quite  _ know _ he wanted yet. 

“Hello, you two. Snufkin, are you going somewhere?” Moominmamma looked up from her cross-stitching, focusing her gaze on Snufkin’s backpack. 

“What? Ah-- this,” Snufkin gestured to the sack. “no. I was just packing up to protect my things from the storm. I uh-- well, I was actually hoping I could stay with you for a little if you don’t mind,” his voice died down in his throat, and he looked away bashfully. He always felt bad asking for a place to stay, especially when it came to the Moomins; they always had guests. 

“Of course, dear!” Moominmamma cooed. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying in Moomintroll’s room?” She smiled, cocking her head to the side. 

From his peripheral, Snufkin could see Moomin opening his mouth to protest. There was hesitation in his eyes and his jaw opened and closed-- the lingering decision. So, Snufkin made the decision for him. 

“Yes, I will, thank you.” Once more, in the corner of his eye, he saw Moomin turn towards him. He could vaguely make out the shock on his face. But he ignored it, and walked inside, nodding politely to Moominmamma as he passed her by. 

Once both inside, Moomin turned towards the Mumrik, a look of surprise etched into all of his features. 

“Are you sure, Snufkin? You might be staying for a couple of days, and I wouldn’t want to tire you out--” 

“You aren’t going to tire me out, Moomin,” Snufkin cut the troll off, reassuring him gently with a smile. “I promise you. Besides, I’ve had plenty of time on my own,” 

“The past few days you’ve been with me, though,” Moomin said softly, making his voice quieter so that Pappa wouldn’t be able to hear them from where he was on the lounge chair. The two made their way to the stairs. “Snufkin when I was younger, I didn’t understand that you needed space, but now I  _ do,  _ and sometimes I need space, too. Of course, I’m very glad you spend so much time with me-- you make me happier than anybody else I’ve ever met--” The two were at the top of the stairs, now rounding a corner to go up yet  _ another  _ flight. “but I’m afraid, Snufkin.” 

Snufkin turned to face him, eyes softening. “Afraid of what?” 

“I’m afraid that if you keep spending time with me, you’ll grow to hate me,” Moomin replied, voice very small and quiet. Snufkin’s eyes widened, and he stopped walking altogether. They were standing just outside of Moomintroll’s bedroom door, now. Was that really what he thought? The very  _ idea  _ that the Mumrik could  _ ever  _ hate Moomintroll was just… So absurd. Incomprehensible, even. 

“Moomin, my friend, never in my entire life could I ever learn to hate you,” he said.  _ I love you,  _ his heart whispered. “I don’t think I could even imagine it-”  _ I love you,  _ “-you’re one of the few people I can spend an endless amount of time with and not grow tired of-”  _ I love you,  _ “-you’re so easy to talk to, and we don’t even have to talk sometimes. Sometimes we can just sit in silence and that would be okay-”  _ I love you.  _ “-Moomin, I...” 

_ Moomin, I love you. _

“...you’re my very best friend, and nothing could ever change that.” Snufkin finished, looking down. Moomintroll’s eyes glistened, and he stepped closer, reaching out a paw. With it, he took Snufkin’s own and squeezed it tight. He used his other paw to reach up and slowly, gingerly, he brushed a strand of hair behind Snufkin’s ear, careful not to nudge the Mumrik’s hat. He paw lingered on Snufkin’s cheek, and the Mumrik could feel the two inching closer and closer as though by force of gravity. Moomintroll looked like he was about to say something or do something when-- 

“Oh, Snufkin, good to know you’ve decided to stay after all,” Little My’s voice cut through the moment and Moomintroll shoved Snufkin back, eyes wide and ears flapping and fur sticking up this way and that. Snufkin was equally as flustered, his mouth agape and cheeks burning. His neck was far too hot, and his palms were suddenly  _ very  _ clammy. He could feel his tail thrashing around behind him, and he had to reach back and hold it to keep it still. 

“Where did you come from, Little My?” He managed to choke out, reaching up to pull his hat over his eyes bashfully. 

“I came up the stairs, just like you two did,” she replied matter-of-factly, closing her eyes and pointing her nose up at them. “I was going to come up and see if Moomin wanted to come catching fireflies with me before I left to go see my sister,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at paw uninterestedly. She ripped off a particularly loose hangnail with her teeth.

“I...” Moomintroll began, looking back and forth between Snufkin and My. “Yeah, sure I’ll come. Snufkin, why don’t you join us?” He looked over in the Mumrik’s general direction but refused to look him in the eye.

“Yeah,” Snufkin replied, mouth dry as cotton. He could barely breathe. The air had suddenly gotten so terribly thick, and the entire house felt stuffy. He was suffocating right on the spot, and some fresh air would definitely do him good. 

“Great! I’ll go get some jars from Mamma, meet you two outside,” she grinned impishly before sliding down the banister, humming the whole way through. 

“She really knows how to pop up out of nowhere, doesn’t she?” Moomintroll turned once more to Snufkin and looked him straight in the eye this time. 

“You can say that again,” the Vagabond breathed, still completely floored from the events mere moments before. Surely they weren’t about to…? But the thought was jostled out of his mind and drowned out with the beating of his own heart as Moomintroll took his paw and led him downstairs. Neither of them dared to speak a single word. 

Downstairs, the house was completely empty. Moominpappa had moved on to the porch to join Moominmamma, and Little My was already in the garden, sneaking up behind a tiny light as it flickered on and off. The door had been left open, nothing but the mosquito net mesh door between the outside and in. Snufkin could already feel the air, sweet and humid just as it had been the past day or so. However, now it was a little cooler; it must almost be time to take shelter, Snufkin thought. He idly wondered how long the downpour would last. With this much buildup, it was sure to be at least two days. 

Imagine. Two or more days alone with Moomintroll. 

“Snufkin, are you coming?” Moomin’s voice broke Snufkin’s train of thought just as it had so many times before. 

“What? Yes, sorry. I’ve been spacing out a lot more often lately,” 

“Yeah, I can tell. Have your brains finally leaked out of your ear?” 

“Oh shut up, you’ve got nothing in that head of yours but pumpkin jam and hot air.” 

“More than you’ve got,” Moomintroll smiled, swinging the bug net door open and letting Snufkin through first. Immediately, he was hit with an unpleasant amount of humidity. The air was so dense it was almost  _ wet.  _

“Hold on,” he mumbled, stepping back inside. “Moomin it’s much too humid to be running around there in these clothes,” he complained. 

“Okay? Just take them off then. You’ll still have your tank top and boxers, won’t you?” 

“I mean yes, but-- what about your parents?” Snufkin worried. And then, Moomintroll gave him a look that reminded him that the only one in the family that was even close to wearing actual clothes was Moominmamma, and even then it was only an apron. “Good point,” he murmured, taking off his hat as he went upstairs. He heard Moomin scoff as he left. 

Snufkin was much more comfortable in his underclothes, and quite enjoyed the dampness in the air against his bare skin. The way the breeze rippled through his fur, the way the buttercups and clover kissed at his ankles while he ran to and fro, his mason jar raised above his head as he worked to capture the little glimpses of light. Moominmamma and Pappa had migrated inside to begin packing for their stay at Mymble’s house, and it was just Little My, Moomin, and Snufkin, all grasping glass jars, and lids with holes punched into them.

“Have you managed to catch anything yet?” Moomin asked excitedly, running up to him. His tail was waving back and forth quite excitedly, and his chest rose and fell with his fast-paced breaths. There was a grin plastered on his face, and unkempt, raw joy brimmed his eyes. 

“No, not yet. You?” Snufkin asked, giddy with adrenaline. 

“Nope! I think Little My caught one, but it flew away after a few moments; she wasn’t careful about the lid,” he giggled, cocking his head to the side. Just then, a firefly blinked between them, and Moomin went cross-eyed to watch it. On, off, on, off, the little bug stayed put for a few moments, blinking its little message. Slowly, Snufkin raised his jar, clutching the lid in his other paw and--- 

_ Clink!  _ He slammed the lid with full force onto the top of his mason jar, but the tiny creature had already zipped away, having sensed that it was about to be captured. 

“Ohh, it got away,” Snufkin giggled, unable to contain the bubbly feeling in his chest. 

“But wait! I see where it went!” Moomintroll pointed near the rose bush, where the same firefly was hovering a few inches away from one of the blooming pink flowers. 

Carefully, Snufkin and Moomin tiptoed up to it. Snufkin was holding his breath. He could tell that Moomin was, too. The grass was cool beneath the Mumrik’s paws, soil soft on the pad his heel. He extended his arms, once again parting the jar and lid in preparation to close down on the firefly. 

Once again, the damned bug flew away, though it wasn’t in so much of a hurry anymore. In fact, it was quite languid, flying slowly and lazily away from the two boys. Snufkin looked over at the same time Moomin did, their gazes catching, and suddenly, in a matter of seconds, they were  _ running _ .

The firefly, now realizing that it was, in fact, being pursued, quickened its pace, blinking in and out of existence in the front garden. Snufkin had his arms raised, jar and lid poised in just the right position, and Moomin was holding on to the back of his tanktop as they gave chase. Snufkin kept stumbling over pebbles and his own two feet but he kept going. He was laughing now, mouth wide open, tears forming in the corners of his brown eyes. His chest began to hurt but he just  _ couldn’t stop  _ because he was here, running after this stupid firefly, Moomintroll giggling and snorting hideously right beside him, and they were close and that dumb bug really was within reach now and Snufkin had never felt more alive than he did right now and then-- 

“YOU GOT IT!” Moomintroll screamed. He was jumping up and down, hollering all the while, eyes crinkled just so at the corners, a look of true delight glowing on his moon-white face. Then, just at that moment, something filled Snufkin. And then it bubbled over. And before he knew it, he had flung his arms ‘round Moomintroll’s neck, laughing hard and whooping gleefully as Moomin wrapped his own arms around Snufkin’s waist, picking him up and twirling him about. 

“We did it, we did it!” He yelled into the boy’s fur. He smelled like honeysuckle and sunshine and warmth. “We caught a firefly!” 

Moomin put him down, and Snufkin let go, though they were now holding paws instead. The firefly had long since escaped, for Snufkin punched the holes in the lid far too big. And the jar had been dropped in the embrace. So yes, they  _ had  _ caught the firefly, but only for a few brief seconds or so.

But that was okay. Because the firefly didn’t matter anymore. Something else did, and a familiar ache began to tug at Snufkin’s heart, squeezing his ribs. 

It felt  _ amazing _ . 

Just then, Moominpappa and Moominmamma hurried outside, carrying bags of food and medicine and extra blankets, looking quite frazzled. 

“Little My, you’d better hurry, didn’t you hear the thunder?” Moominmamma exclaimed. “We need to be at your sister’s very soon, I don’t want her to be all by herself when the rain starts. Poor thing must be terribly frightened,” her eyebrows were knit with worry, and Little My realized that there was no room for her to do anything else but listen and comply immediately, so she did. 

“Moomin, you and Snufkin be sure to keep all of the windows closed and locked, alright?” Moominpappa said to the two boys, who were still standing with their fingers intertwined. Moomintroll only nodded, and Snufkin stooped down to pick up the jar he had dropped. 

“There’s plenty of jam and bread in the cupboard,” Mamma placed a kiss on the tops of both of their heads. “please be safe you two,” 

“Of course Mamma, you don’t need to worry,” Moomin smiled, and Snufkin nodded. It was nice, he thought, to have somebody worry about you. 

“Say hi to Mymble for me, won’t you?” He asked as the three began to walk off in the direction of her home. 

“Yes, I will, goodbye,” Mamma replied sweetly, not getting much more than that and a wave as she jogged away with Pappa and Little My. They were in quite the hurry, and for good reason, too. Thunder murmured up above, and sheet lightning lit up the sky like a lamp. 

“Perhaps we should take cover,” Moomintroll suggested quietly a few moments after his parents were out of sight. 

“Mmm,” Snufkin hummed a reply, slipping his paws out of Moomin’s grip and walking quietly to the door. The air had grown much heavier and smelled deeply of petrichor. It was cold, too, the breeze slowly turning into a wind. Yes, it was almost time for a downpour. 

Moomintroll’s room had been lit with a few candles; his lamp had been out of oil for weeks now. Perhaps they ought to replace it tonight. 

“Do you think the rain will be here soon?” Moomin asked as he leaned his forehead against the window. Snufkin looked up from where he lay on the bed. His smock, pants, hat, shoes, and scarf were still hanging up on the makeshift clothesline in the corner of Moomin’s room where he had placed them earlier. 

“Probably,” he replied simply. “are you worried about your parents and Little My?” 

“No.” A pause. “Yes. I know they’re probably there by now, but I can’t help it,” he turned to face Snufkin, smiling quite sheepishly. “I always worry about them.”

“That’s alright, it’s good to worry sometimes.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Silence hung in the air for a few moments, and a question was lingering on Moomintroll’s tongue, Snufkin could tell. He glanced over at him with softened eyes and a calm expression, hoping to coax it out of the anxiety-riddled troll.

“Hey, Snufkin?” He asked quietly, turning back to face the outside. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you ever worry?” The question was spoken in a hushed voice, as though it were something extremely personal. Though perhaps, in Snufkin’s case, maybe it was. He blinked slowly, considering his answers.

“Yes, I worry all the time, Moomin.” He finally replied, biting at his bottom lip. 

“Oh? About what?” 

“More like about who,” 

This seemed to catch Moomintroll off guard, for he whipped around with a furrowed brow, paws still clinging to the windowsill. And then, his expression turned from surprise to worry to a look that Snufkin could only describe as deepset longing. 

The rain began to patter on the window.

“Who do you worry about then?” Moomin asked softly, padding to the bed and sitting down near the edge. Snufkin rolled over, now lying on his back on the right side of the bed. 

The Mumrik thought for a moment, trying to decide if what he was about to say was wise. It wasn’t. But he said it anyways. “You, mostly,” came his slow reply. 

“Me? But why?” Moomin turned to face him. Firelight danced across his features, only lighting up parts of him. His fur looked warm and soft and yellow-white in the candle’s embrace, his eyes glistening. 

“Because,” Snufkin’s chest constricted quite terribly, and he felt blush dust over his cheeks. He hoped he didn’t look as red as he felt. “I care a great deal too much about you.” He took a deep breath. “Like during the winter, for instance; I never know whether you’re hibernating or not. You could be wide awake, having the worst and most lonesome time of your life. And even if you are asleep, you could be having dreadful nightmares.” 

Outside, thunder clapped, and the rain truly began to pick up. It came down in sheets, the constant pounding of droplets beating against the window, the wind howling and making the whole house creak as if it were going to fall down. Inside, though, it was cozy and safe and warm. Moomintroll was moving to lay down next to Snufkin, their shoulders pressed together. 

“Well, I worry about you a lot, too, Snufkin,” he whispered. “all the time, even. I think about you constantly. Whether you’re feeling alright, whether you’re hurt or sick or sad or angry. Even when you’re here I think of you,” he closed his eyes, and Snufkin subtly slid his paw over, tracing the inside of Moomintroll’s palm with his index finger.

“I think about you so much that I can barely concentrate on anything else. Snufkin, you are the most important creature in the whole entire world to me. You mean so much to me that I can’t even comprehend it.” 

Snufkin couldn’t talk for a while after that. What Moomintroll had just said… It was everything he felt. Everything he yearned to hear, everything he had been thinking for the past several weeks. Several months. Several years. 

Moominmamma was right. Now that he thought about it, he had been in love with Moomintroll for far longer than he initially realized. 

“Moomintroll, I care very much for you, more than I have ever cared for a person. Do you understand me?” He breathed, voice breaking. He didn’t dare look over, didn’t dare catch the troll’s gaze.

“I think so,” Moomin whispered. The rain battered against the house, thunder rolling and lightning crashing hard against the sky. But Moomintroll and Snufkin stayed safe and warm inside of Moomin’s dimly lit room, atop his soft warm bed.

Snufkin intertwined his fingers with Moomintroll’s fully, and both of them seemed to realize that nothing would ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nobody:   
> me, pressing ctrl+i for the 30th time: god italicization is sexy as hell...


	7. moomin hadn't understood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin had never really clarified how he felt about Moomintroll. And this would cost him greatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this were a modern au snufkin would be listening 2 take my breath away by berlin 
> 
> thissis,,,, a bad chapter,,, and im really sorry i'll pick up the slack soon!!!! i have small meat syndrome rn. no braincells. forgive me

They hadn’t kissed that night-- the one with all of the rain. Or the next night, or the night after that. When summer slipped quietly into fall, and the leaves began to deepen in color, Snufkin wasn’t entirely sure Moomintroll  _ had  _ understood. In fact, he seemed to be ignoring the subject altogether, which soon raised this disgusting, churning, uneasy feeling in Snufkin’s stomach that screamed  _ Moomin is uncomfortable with you.  _

This thought scared Snufkin more than he thought it would. For one thing, he knew how it felt to be uncomfortable with others. He knew what it was like to avoid being in somebody else’s presence, knew the fear of dealing with others. But at the same time, this was  _ Moomin.  _ Moomin, his best friend for so many years, the one creature in all of the Valley that he could look at and really trust, really know. The two of them were one and the same, alike yet so different, meant to meet in this life. They were the type that could just lie there, silent, not saying anything. Because they didn’t need to; they simply had to revel in each other’s company. And that was enough.

Snufkin was very relieved when, on the fourth day after the huge storm, he heard Moomin’s voice calling him happily to his tent from the bridge. His heart leapt to his throat and he scrambled into his blouse and trousers, slipping on his suspenders and boots as well. Next was his dress, his scarf, and finally his hat.

Rather excitedly, the Vagabond peeked outside of his tent with a gleam in his eye and butterflies erupting happily from his stomach. 

“Snufkin! Good morning!” The troll called sweetly, waving from where he stood on that old wooden thing.

“Hello, Moomintroll,” Snufkin replied. There was a lilt in his voice, and his expression softened quite significantly. “is everything okay?” 

“Hm? Yes, yes of course. I just wanted to know if you wanted to come down to the beach with me. 

“The beach?” 

“Yes, are you deaf? Need I say it louder?” A lopsided grin painted itself on Moomintroll’s face, and Snufkin only rolled his eyes. Classic Moomin. 

“Yes, I’ll go with you. Are the others coming as well?” 

“Yes, yes. Sniff and Snorkmaiden and Little My. I haven’t told them, but I expect when they see us on the way down they’ll want to tag along. Are you ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” Snufkin gave his simple reply and smiled warmly at his companion. As they began to walk, Moomin looped his arm in Snufkin’s and held fast. Something about the way he squeezed made Snufkin’s heart go for a loop, and the Vagabond swallowed hard, focusing on the earth below his feet. 

As Moomin had predicted, the others did tag along. Very enthusiastically. Snorkmaiden and Little My seemed to be off in their own world however, stealing away to whisper among one another, and more than once did Snufkin notice My stealing glances at Snorkmaiden, letting her gaze linger when she was caught. It made the other girl giggle. 

Sniff was…. Sniff, really. Not really here nor there, he followed anyways and joined in on the conversation or wandered about on his own. Snufkin often wondered whether they were too hard on him; they could be, teasing him and casting playful faces over his way. However, he seemed to enjoy it. Besides, there were many late nights where Snufkin assured him oh so gently that he loved him, so did everybody else. Snorkmaiden, Moomintroll, even Little My-- though she didn’t show it as clearly as the others. And this always seemed to put Sniff at ease, and in his nasally voice he’d say something like I know when you’re joking, or I don’t mind all that much, or we’re all friends, aren’t we? What’s a little teasing? 

“The beach is getting much cooler,” Moomintroll remarked once the little pack of friends had arrived. I expect the winter will be here soon,” his tone changed and his voice dropped so low that only Snufkin could here.

“Nonsense,” Snufkin replied softly, reaching out gingerly to brush the tips of his fingers against the troll’s arm. His winter coat was already starting to grow in, slowly but surely. “we still have several months before winter. Fall has only just begun,” 

“Only three months,” was Moomin’s melancholy reply, and Snufkin could not say anything to that. 

“What’re you two murmuring about?” Little My’s shrill voice cut through their conversation like a knife. They both looked down to see her, brows furrowed, paws resting at her hips. “Come on, sissies! Let’s get in the water!” She dashed away excitedly, Snorkmaiden and Sniff following her with just as much fervor. 

“I think it’ll be much too cold for a swim, now,” Snufkin said softly, and Moomintroll nodded. “let’s sit on the little hill just above the shore instead. The grass is still soft from the summer and springtime, and it will smell just as nice,” once again, he got little more than a nod from Moomin, and the two slowly padded towards the comfortably grassy area, sitting down far too close, their legs getting tangled up. It was familiar. 

“Hey?” Moomintroll asked after a few moments, nudging Snufkin, though his eyes were locked on the others as they all tried to go into the water past their ankles. As the Vagabond had predicted, it was far too chilly to actually get in and swim around. 

“What’s on your mind?” Snufkin replied just as softly. 

“I was just thinking. Snufkin, will you ever marry anybody?” 

“What?” The Mumrik turned with eyes blown wide and hot flush seeping into the apples of his burning cheeks. “Where’d this come from?” 

“Oh, don’t be upset, I was only asking. See, Pappa told me that if you were married, you’d stop traveling so much. Mamma said that almost everyone gets married and that love catches up. Will you ever?” 

Snufkin took a moment to consider this. Although it was evident that Moomin was more than likely oblivious to Snufkin’s confession, this question was throwing him for a loop. 

“Well, I…” He paused a moment, looking down at his paws. “I don’t know, Moomin,” his voice was very quiet and very cautious, as though he were walking on eggshells. He didn’t know  _ how  _ to reply to something like this. But Moomin dropped it the minute he answered. Snufkin knew he wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but, after so many years of knowing the Vagabond and his antics, he was respectful enough to stay away from these sorts of things. Snufkin was very grateful for this.

Playing on the beach wasn’t quite as fun as Moomin or Snufkin had wanted it to be-- mostly because they didn’t play. It was way too cold, and they sat in excruciatingly awkward silence on the small grassy hill above the shore after the marriage issue had come up. However, they hadn’t moved from their intertwined position, their legs still mingling, shoulders still pressed hard together, paws gently brushing every so often. 

In a way, Snufkin was glad that Moomin hadn’t  _ actually  _ understood his confession. If you even want to call it that-- it was much more subtle than a proper love confession should be. Maybe if the troll had understood, it would just be awkward. Maybe he would just decline, and maybe, just maybe, their friendship would tear apart and burn away slowly, winking out of existence like summer lightning bugs. 

But then, for a brief moment, he wondered what would happen if his feelings were taken in, considered, and  _ reciprocated.  _ How wonderful it would all be. How there would be meaning to the way their paws would brush. 

Thinking of something like that began to hurt Snufkin’s head after a moment, so he just ignored it and hoped his feelings would go away. Just like he always did. 

The morning after the rather solemn beach expedition, Snufkin sat on the Moomins’ verandah, looking out over the valley as a very light drizzle of rain came down. Normally, he would just wait something like this out in his tent, but at the moment, his tent seemed far too small. He was growing more and more claustrophobic lately, though he supposed that was just because he was getting antsy to leave. He always was this time of year. He grew so very restless during the fall, though he tried not to, for he knew that Moomintroll noticed it. And when he did, those sparkling baby blues would lose their glow and his eyebrows would knit together and he’d have this  _ hurt  _ expression and oh Snufkin couldn’t do that to him. So he tried his best to not think about his winter trip, and tried to ignore the bite of the cold that was evident in the air. 

The door clicked open behind him, and he turned his head to see Moominpappa walking outside with a pipe clasped tight between his teeth. 

“Hello, Snufkin,” Pappa greeted the boy with his rumbly voice, the type only a father would really have. 

“Moominpappa,” Snufkin, in reply, tipped his hat, turning back to face the valley. 

“I think that Moominvalley in the fall is just so wonderful, don’t you?” He took a drag from his pipe, blowing the smoke out in thick curls. He even went as far as to pop a few Os with his mouth, ringlets of dark smoke blowing forth from his lips. 

“Mmm, I’d have to agree with you,” Snufkin watched the smoke rings slowly fade away in wisps of grey. 

“Though I suppose it does make Moomintroll quite upset, what with you leaving for winter soon,” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Snufkin winced; he knew Pappa was going to bring that up. 

“Snufkin? Son?” The elderly troll turned towards the Vagabond, who soaked up his expression; he’d never seen it before. Deep brown eyes, once sparkling and glossy with youth and adventure now softened. His eyebrows knitted together, and a few creases on his forehead reminded Snufkin that Moominpappa  _ was  _ old. 

“Yes, Pappa?” Snufkin asked very quietly, not entirely knowing how to deal with this situation. Something about the man’s voice, about his gaze, his expression-- it all made Snufkin very nervous. 

“Moomintroll has been your friend for many, many years,” he said quietly. “he values you very much, sees you in a light that most normal friends don’t regularly. Sees you as more than just any old friend. As more than a friend entirely. You understand this, don’t you?”

Snufkin’s eyes went wide, and he stared at Moominpappa in raw bewilderment for a moment. He lost the words that he wanted to use-- he lost any words at all, actually. He was rendered speechless. Surely, Moominpappa wasn’t suggesting that Moomin… Loved Snufkin? The way Snufkin loved him?

“I…” He began softly before he turned away, looking very distantly at the Lonely Mountains. “Yes, I understand,” his voice was a mere breath now, and Moominpappa just hummed in acknowledgement. After a moment or so, he ambled back inside, paws clasped behind his back the way dads always seemed to do. 

Snufkin, now alone, thought back to that stormy night, thought back to what he had said and how he had squeezed Moomin’s paw so. He was now rightly confused, unsure of how to feel after this new bit of information was given to him. Did Moomintroll know that he felt the exact same way? The Vagabond needed answers.

So, when Snufkin shyly sipped at his tea a few weeks later, a little too close to Moomin on the faded green couch cushion, he thought he might ask just  _ what  _ had happened. 

“Moomintroll?” He began all too softly. 

“Mm? Yes, Snuf,” Moomin replied in a chipper sort of tone. The two were alone in Moominhouse, golden afternoon light spilling in through the windows. 

“Do you remember just a couple weeks back, that awful storm?” 

“How could I forget? It was terrible, that weather. I was worried the house would be carried away by a flood,” 

“Do you remember what I said?” Snufkin asked softly, biting his lip and staring into his ever-cooling tea as it swirled languidly in his cup. 

“Why, yes, Snuf, I do,” Moomintroll hummed quite sweetly, nudging Snufkin’s side very softly with his elbow. “I was almost surprised. You’ve never been so sentimental with our friendship like that. It really meant so much to me, and I’m glad we both felt that way. You truly are the best friend anybody could wish for,” Moomin looked up just as Snufkin had, and their eyes locked. At that moment, Snufkin felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. He wanted to throw up. 

“...So are you, Moomin,” he replied, hoping that his voice wouldn’t break and quiver. The last thing he needed right now was for Moomintroll to realize that he wasn’t talking about their friendship at  _ all.  _ He just needed to keep it under control, to keep his friend happy. But right now he felt so stupid. His tea was cold anyways. “I-- ah, Moomintroll,” he said quietly, rising from his seat. The couch squeaked as he left. 

“What? Yes?” Moomin asked, a tad frantic at the Mumrik’s sudden movement. 

“I should be going. It’s getting quite late, and I should hate to keep you up.” He set his teacup, half empty, on the table, fingertips lingering gently on the porcelain. 

“A-are you alright? You don’t need to leave, Snufkin,” his voice was rather gentle, but at that point, Snufkin had already exited Moominhouse. 

The air outside had that wonderful autumn scent. It smelled of cloves and pumpkin and cinnamon, and the breeze whispered promises of things to come. Sitting cozily by the fire, wrapping yourself in blankets with a hot mug of apple cider, baking raisin bread and telling stories when it was too frigid to leave home. The earth cooling beneath everybody’s feet, and the beach’s scent that came in with the cold winds warned that the ocean would be frozen over in only a few months after wintertime arrived. Leaves were now vibrant oranges and fiery reds, grasses and flowers were browning ever so slowly. Moominmamma’s roses were soon to be mulch, and Snufkin’s beloved pear tree that sat next to his tent would grow bare in the next couple of days. It was going to be a  _ very  _ cold season, Snufkin could tell. 

Normally, come fall time, the Mumrik would be quite excited. He would be itching to leave the valley, to set off again and quench his thirst to wander. He would ache to pack up, to run off to a distant land. Feel the sun on his face and roam until he couldn’t move any longer. And he was, at least he was that day Pappa had come out to talk to him. But now, the thought of leaving Moominvalley was so  _ lonely.  _

For the first time in all of his years staying, Snufkin wondered if he should stay with the others in Moominhouse for winter. 

But that thought only lasted a split second, for when reality cut in and reminded him that everybody would be asleep, and he would be trapped  _ inside  _ all winter long due to heavy snowdrifts, he knew he would be downright miserable. 

“Why am I even thinking of winter…?” Snufkin wondered aloud, murmuring to himself as he crossed the bridge. It creaked in protest beneath his boots, whining and groaning. It was old, that bridge. It had been built just before the great comet. Snufkin thought he was going to die that year, actually. He thought everybody was, and for the first time in his whole life, he felt as though he  _ needed  _ to be around people. As though he could not be alone. It was fear, perhaps. Or maybe is was just a deepset desire for a sense of community and love.

Granted, he did find it. Even after the comet, the Moomins, despite all of their odd quirks and eccentric behavior, proved to be the most loyal, most wonderful companions anybody could ask for. They were a perfectly happy family, a messy contrast to that of Snufkin’s own broken home. And he was very grateful to them. 

Snufkin flipped open the entrance to his canvas tent. It was a little warmer inside, and would be warmer still once he lit his lantern, which was waiting patiently for him near the corner. As he dragged it out, he let his thoughts wander to the events of the summer. 

The midsummer party. Moomintroll wanting to talk to him privately. The ruby red wine that spilled on his paws, seeping into his milk white fur like a stain. The day on the beach. Moomin had shared a surprisingly intimate detail about his life when he had murmured oh so quietly that an artist had died during that evening. Skinny dipping with him, the way his paws were  _ so slow  _ when they worked Snufkin’s buttons. Their conversation that stormy night, their paws brushing together. The several almost-kisses they had shared. 

All of that, to Moomin, chalked up to Snufkin being a good friend. 

And suddenly Snufkin felt sick. And he didn’t want to stay up any longer. And even though the sun had a way to go before it sank below the horizon, Snufkin pushed away his lantern and removed his boots and dress, scarf and blouse, suspenders and trousers. And then, in his tanktop and boxers, he curled up beneath his terribly moth-eaten blanket and squeezed his eyes shut. 

His stomach was churning something quite awful, and he felt as though his head were splitting in two. He had been  _ pining  _ for Moomintroll all summer long, and for what? 

_ Oh, Snufkin. Don’t be so selfish  _ his brain scolded him.  _ Moomin is still your best friend. Is that not enough? Or are you just greedy?  _

Snufkin opened his eyes, but only a slit. In front of him, he could see the dull beige of his canvas tent, and he wanted to puke. He supposed it was true that he should be grateful to be Moomintroll’s best friend, but at the same time, it hurt. Deep in his gut, pulling at his bones and breaking his heart very slowly. He had never been in love before. And, that being said, he had never had his heart broken before. He had no way of knowing it would hit him so fiercely in such a raging, crashing wave. He had no way of knowing it would make him  _ ache so much. _

Not entirely sure what other options he had, he took a deep shuddering breath and bit hard into his lower lip as it quivered quite dangerously. He couldn’t cry, wouldn’t. But tears were stinging so violently at the corners of his eyes, and he had pent up his emotions for so long. And before he knew it, his shoulders began to shake ever so violently. 

A moment later, Snufkin was openly sobbing, curling in on himself and wishing that he had never fallen in love in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school is next mondayyy im :-( i have 2 take gym............................ ohno
> 
> anyways i am writing this on ONE BRAINCELL!!!! no plans!!! im just GOIN and it is a BAD IDEA but WHAT CAN U DO


	8. the cusp of winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin can't sort out his problem on his own, but perhaps Snorkmaiden can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goin 2 see a chloe moriondo concert on sunday w my friend,,,, so excited

So, as it turned out, Moomintroll didn’t feel the same way. 

Snufkin ran a hand over his face, dragging it down slowly, from his forehead to the very bottom of his mouth. His fingernails were dirty, his palm far too sweaty for his liking, and he could feel himself shake. This was okay, it was all okay. 

The hill he was lying on-- one of the ones leading up to the Lonely Mountains-- was lush in the warm seasons. Wildflowers poked through emerald grass, the entire meadow seeming to ripple like an ocean’s waves when a gust of summer wind or a spring breeze blew through. However, as autumn slowly crept along into winter, the life slowly drained from the hillock, leaving a dull field of sage-green and mottled brown. It smelled dead, too; the earth was preparing to rest for a little while. Just as the Moomins did, the natural world (apart from the obvious evergreens and species' that thrived in the wintertime) would be getting some much-needed rest when the snow began to fall.

This winter would indeed by a lonesome one, Snufkin thought blankly, picking up a fistful of partially dead grass and sprinkling it into the air, watching with solemn, hazy eyes as a rather nippy breeze whisked it away. Though, perhaps, it would be what he needed. 

“I just need to clear my head, is all,” Snufkin murmured to himself, though he knew damn well that it wasn’t true. What he  _ really  _ needed to do was get his feelings for Moomintroll off of his chest, but he knew that definitely wouldn’t work. Not with his fierce cowardice. 

Slowly, he raised his upper half, balancing his weight on his elbows. They dug into the ground below, and he noted that the soil was becoming colder and colder with each passing day. It would not be long before winter arrived. Not long at all. 

He looked out over the valley with the view that he had-- granted, it wasn’t a very big one, as this particular hill wasn’t all that tall. But he could still see a few houses from where he was perched. 

First, he spotted the Fillyjonk residence. Painfully tidy, there wasn’t a single trace of the season changing passed  _ that  _ woman’s fence. Pristine and so disgustingly neat, it sat nice and tall and straight. Snufkin despised the look of it. He wasn’t all that fond of the inhabitants either-- that old Mrs. Fillyjonk was truly a creature unlike any other. In a bad way. 

His gaze fell on the Hemulen’s house next. Even from where he was, he could spot the climbing ivy. Though not as full as it was in the warmer months, the botanist’s garden was still a sea of green and yellow and orange and white and red and even black. It was deeply loved, that much the Vagabond could tell. It seemed as though ever since the old man had abandoned stamps (or, rather, collected  _ all  _ of them), he was letting the flora of the world take over his life. 

Finally, with one last sweep of the valley, the Mumrik’s eye caught on a dusty red roof, a little crooked, a little broken. Despite himself, the faint hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Moominhouse. Of all the places in the world, of all the houses in the world, he was positively  _ sure  _ that Moominhouse was his absolute favorite. He would even dare to call it a home, though he knew better than that. Quite firmly, he believed that home followed the heart. Home is where the heart is, for lack of a better term. 

It had taken Snufkin quite a few years to figure out that this rule still applied to Moominhouse. It would always be his home so long as Moomintroll lived ‘neath its dingy little rooftop.

This thought sent the poor Vagabond careening back to his predicament with said troll. What on  _ earth  _ was he to do in a situation such as this? 

For one, he could tell the truth. Just spit it out, get it over with. Since he  _ knew  _ he had absolutely no chance, he figured he wouldn’t have to bother with the romantics of it all, and just let Moomin know that he felt this way. Even now, despite what he had heard, he still did. Love was very fickle like that.

But then there was option two, which consisted of Snufkin burying his feelings deep, deep down into the very pit of his being where nobody would ever find them and just let himself become the most emotionally stunted hermit the world’s ever seen, thus saving him the trouble of dealing with the heart palpitations and stammering that was trying to confess one’s feelings.

Suddenly, without so much as a warning, a splitting headache descended upon Snufkin, and with a long, drawn-out groan, he lowered himself onto his back again, pressing the heel of his palms into his forehead, as though massaging the area would numb the pain. It didn’t. 

The chill of the air didn’t do much to help his head, either, as the wind blew mercilessly through him and seemed to mock him whilst it howled against the dying trees. Perhaps he ought to get inside somewhere lest he catch cold and die out in that browning field. 

As he stood up and rustled the burs and bits of dead grass clinging to his dress, he pondered for a moment. Perhaps he’d better not go to Moominhouse, not now. Normally, on such a chilly day, nothing sounded more perfect than a cup of hot apple cider next to the fireplace. No doubt he’d be listening to one of Pappa’s stories, the man couldn’t resist himself when there was company. Weather like this was so  _ cozy,  _ so very  _ welcoming,  _ so why was it that Snufkin felt sick at the very idea of visiting? 

Of course, he knew exactly why. But he wasn’t going to admit it to himself, for he felt far too guilty. 

The dirt road leading up to Snorkmaiden’s house was littered with leaves of several different and vibrant hues-- bright, pumpkin orange, pale yellow, dull brown and even a shade of auburn so dark it looked nearly black, especially in the rather dim light of the day. Autumn always brought forth such overcast, cloudy days, the whole season seemed to be on the cusp of rain. But it wasn’t rain, of course; only winter, looming just around the corner. 

Snufkin looked up from the ground, gazing at the front door. It was old, paint peeling from the corners, a little bit of the original color showing through. Hesitantly, he knocked. Very faintly from inside he heard the kettle going off. It was silenced though, and shortly after he heard soft footsteps, and the click of the doorknob being turned. 

“Ah, Snufkin, wasn’t expecting you,” The Snork smiled. The Mumrik chose to ignore the dark purple circles hanging heavily beneath his eyes. It wasn’t uncommon. 

“Is ah--” he began, before making a vague gesture with his paws. 

“Yeah, just upstairs. You know the way.” Snork went back inside, Snufkin following. “I’m making tea if you’d like some,” he remarked, sitting down at the kitchen table. The top of it was covered with old books and yellowing papers. Research, probably. 

“Alright, thank you,” Snufkin nodded. Not looking up from the dusty book in his paw, Snork shot him a finger gun of simple acknowledgment, and Snufkin began up the stairs. He ran the pads of his finger across the banister, looking at the wall to the left of him. There were a few paintings, all signed "SM" with a little heart at the end. They were all impressionist pieces. Snufkin counted four of landscapes and two of finely dressed ladies-- one was a Mymble, the other a Hemulen, both wearing fabulously lavish dresses, the Mymble’s baby pink and the Hemulen’s a rich creamy yellow. All of the paintings were very well done, and Snufkin wondered absently why he’d never seen “SM’s” work before. 

Snorkmaiden’s door had a little embroidered cloth nailed to the front. A sunflower, messily done, but a sunflower all the same. He rapped three times on the old wood with his knuckles, though he heard shuffling after the first one. 

“Has the tea finished--” she opened the door, doing a double-take once she recognized Snufkin’s face. “--yet?” She finished softly, clearly a little surprised to see him. 

“Hullo, Snorkmaiden,” Snufkin muttered sheepishly, offering a timid little smile. 

“Fancy seeing you here!” The girl laughed, stepping aside to let him shuffle in before clicking the door shut. “Is there anything the matter?” 

“Hm? Oh, no, sorry. I just wanted to get out of the cold, is all…” He murmured.

“Thought you would’ve gone to Moominhouse to do that,” she replied, plopping down unceremoniously onto the side of her bed and patting the space next to her. “something’s eating you, I can tell. Won’t you sit down?” 

It was not a request.

Snufkin sunk into the space next to her, letting their shoulders press together. Her room was quite pretty, the walls covered with rosebud pattern wallpaper and her bedspread a tastefully light pink. Some of the pillowcases had lace fringes. It was cozy, too, with nice old books and photo albums lining the bookshelf, light from the lamps dimmed from red cloths being tossed over them. Her window provided a very nice view of the chilly, windy outside, but it was locked tight and inside it was safe and warm. 

“You’ve been on edge lately,” Snorkmaiden said calmly, smoothing down a few crinkles on her pillow that she had picked up and hugged tight to her chest. “I know you don’t think anybody noticed. And I expect many others don’t. But we-- My, Sniff, Moomin and I-- we’re your friends. And it’s our duty to keep you happy.” She paused for a moment, a rather distant look in her eye. “Moominmamma and Moominpappa notice, too, but I expect they’re too kind to disturb you. They know you need your space.”

Snufkin said nothing to this and instead opted on making eye contact with a small bunny plush sitting slumped over on a neat white desk. The plushie was off-white, though he figured it was probably just old. And very well-loved, judging from the thinning fur in some areas. There were a few stitches, all done quite messily, though Snufkin realized that he could tell which one had come first and which was the most recent-- whoever had sewn the bunny back together was terrible at first but learned over the years. He wondered if it was Snorkmaiden’s doing when she was only just learning how to sew. But he knew her style, even her older style, knew the way she threaded things, and this wasn’t it.

“I know you need your space, too, Snuf,” she continued softly after giving him some time to reply. “but that won’t stop me from getting worried about you. You  _ are  _ my friend, you know this. And friends look out for each other.” 

“Yes, I know,” Snufkin muttered, the tenseness in his shoulders from when he had first entered slowly melting away. The room smelled like perfume. He noticed that the whole house did, despite neither of the siblings ever wearing the stuff. It left him wondering about things he figured he ought not wonder about. So he tried to forget about it. “I’m sorry.” He said, even quieter than before. 

“You needn’t be sorry, love,” Snorkmaiden’s voice softened to something almost comparable to Moominmamma’s comforting tone, and she reached over to place a soft paw on Snufkin’s shoulder. He let her. And it felt nice. “we all know you.” She smiled, and he smiled back. They-- his friends, that was--  _ did  _ know him. Maybe better than he knew himself, at times. And for that, he was grateful.

Snorkmaiden down, fiddling with one of the lace fringes on her pillowcase, and Snufkin realized that maybe it was rude to be wearing boots and a hat whilst sitting on somebody else’s bed. So, now feeling very comfortable in his friend’s presence, he reached down to untie his laces and pull his boots off, placing them neatly next to one another. He stood and walked to the headboard, hanging his hat there before climbing back onto the mattress. This time, instead of sitting primly on the side, he leaned against the wall the bed was next to and drew his legs up to his chest. 

He knew he’d probably have to spill his guts to Snorkmaiden in a minute but right now she was just letting him sit. And he appreciated that  _ deeply.  _

“Goodness, Snufkin, your hair,” Snorkmaiden said abruptly, looking up at him. He blinked, glancing over to her. 

“What about it?” He asked slowly, letting each word draw out in a curious manner. 

“It’s just a mess, that’s all. Let me comb it for you?” She reached over to her bedside table, pulling out a little drawer and withdrawing from it a brush. “It doesn’t have any lice or bugs or anything. Unless you’re afraid to catch my cooties, in which case, I can’t help you,” she smiled. 

“I suppose it is getting pretty uncomfortable all matted and tangled like this...” Snufkin muttered to himself. “Thank you, please do,” he gave her a reassuring smile before turning around, his back to her. He heard the bedsprings complain as she shifted; the mattress seemed to be quite old. 

“Oh, Snuf, have you been laying in the grass?” Snorkmaiden huffed, carefully picking out bits of grass and dead leaves. 

“Perhaps,” Snufkin replied, eliciting a small laugh from the girl behind him. 

“Even so, your hair is very soft. I expect it’s ‘cause you let the elements have their way. Yes, you have beautiful hair,” her voice was quiet, and her paws carded through his strawberry brown locks with utmost care. He merely hummed in reply, letting his eyes flutter closed. 

Normally, he would  _ never  _ let anybody touch him like this. Save Moominmamma, and even Moomintroll. But right now, it was all very comforting. Maybe just because he was stressed about Moomin. 

His head got tugged back a little as Snorkmaiden began brushing, smiling gently at her soft apologies in case she brushed too hard. She worked languidly, from the bottom of his hair to his roots, deftly picking out knots ‘til his hair began to feel light again. As they sat in silence, he took a moment to consider the paintings hung up in the hallways. They were all by the same person.

“They’re pretty,” Snufkin piped up, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Who is?” Snorkmaiden asked, brushing through the last knotted area in Snufkin’s hair.

“Ah-- the uh. The paintings,” he replied.

“Oh! Those. You like them?” 

“Yes, I’m surprised I haven’t seen the artist’s work more,” he stated. “down south, a very long way away from the valley, there’s a little town I always pass through. They  _ love  _ impressionist art down there, there’s whole exhibits of it, all free and open to the public.” He let a smile tug at the corners of his lips as he recalled that tiny village. Rinport, he believes it was called. Right near the ocean, it provided some of the best seafood he’s ever had. And in the springtime, endless amounts of flowers bloomed rather vivaciously along the hills. 

“That’s because they’re uh-- they’re originals,” she said. Her voice was very small. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you painted! They’re lovely,” 

“Not mine.” 

Snufkin took a moment, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Surely your brother didn’t?” 

“Don’t be silly, even  _ he  _ knows he’d never be able to paint!” Snorkmaiden laughed. Then, even though he couldn’t see her, Snufkin could tell that she was wearing a solemn gaze. Her whole body seemed to sag into the mattress. “My mom did them. She was very good, actually, and Snork and I would stay up late to try and watch her paint. We’d sneak out of our rooms way past midnight and be as quiet as we could up the stairs and into her studio,” 

“You mean your brother turned her studio into a workshop? A little disrespectful if you ask me,” Snufkin said abruptly, a little surprised. It was the only room upstairs, aside from the hatch leading to the roof, so that was really the only option. Silence hung in the air for a moment or two, and Snorkmaiden stopped brushing. 

“I told him to.” Her voice was flat, and then Snufkin understood. He stayed quiet for a moment.

“She was a good artist.” He whispered finally, feeling a bit guilty. But Snorkmaiden hummed sweetly in reply and went on brushing his hair, gentle as ever. 

“I know you’re in love with Moomin,” Snorkmaiden spoke up from where she was on the rug, writing a letter-- poem?-- to some unknown girl. The paper she used was very cutesy, all designed with little hearts and flowers done by none other than the maiden herself. 

“What!” Snufkin exclaimed more than asked, nearly falling off of the bed. He had been flipping through one of Snorkmaiden’s photo albums when the statement caught him wildly off guard. 

“It’s no secret, you know. Seems as though everyone in the valley but you two seem to understand what’s going on between you,” she looped a very pretty ‘t’ then, in one quick flick of her wrist, crossed it neatly. 

“I’m not sure what on earth you’re going on about down there,” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“Okay fine, I am,” Snufkin grumbled, feeling his cheeks grow warm. 

“I know Moomintroll rejected you. On accident, of course. He told me about that night-- you know, the one with all the rain?” She looked up at him from her work for a moment, before going right back. “Kept whining about how it sounded like a confession but he  _ knew  _ you would  _ never  _ like him back, at least not in the way he liked you. I’m assuming it was, in fact, a confession, though,” 

“Yeah, or at least an attempt at one,” Snufkin frowned, going back to gazing at a picture in the upper right corner of the book. It was of Little My, though it appeared as though she wasn’t aware her picture was being taken. It was very pretty; her hair was down and she was wearing some of Snorkmaiden’s pyjamas. She was looking at something through Snorkmaiden’s window, her face aglow with the dim light of a candle. She was smiling. Next to the photo, a tiny pressed forget-me-not and a little doodle of a heart.

“You’re both very stupid, you know,” Snorkmaiden continued. “we  _ all  _ know you two are meant to be, perfect for each other, soulmates, whatever. All but you guys. I’m afraid the only way Moomin’ll ever realize you love him is if you just spit it out directly. Otherwise, he’ll just assume he’s looking too deep into your words,”

“But why should  _ I  _ have to be the one to confess!” Snufkin grumbled, turning the page to find a picture of him a few years prior. It was during Midsummer, and he was grinning with flowers all tangled into his hair. Moomintroll was next to him, arm slung around his shoulders. “He’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, isn’t he?” 

“Of course he is, but I’m afraid he’s doing it out of respect for you,”

“Respect for me?” 

“Yes, you heard me.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Snufkin asked tentatively, lowering the album.

“Well, you see, he’s afraid that if he tells you, you’ll feel trapped by his confession. The very last thing Moomintroll wants to do is trap you,” 

Snufkin stared at her, jaw slack and eyes wide.  _ That’s  _ why Moomintroll was keeping his feelings to himself?  _ That’s  _ why they had so many almost-kisses, so many moments that were very clearly romantic but would never pan out? 

Suddenly, the Mumrik’s heart felt very heavy and a lump tightened in his throat. He had no idea. And all this time, he had been so selfish, not considering the fact that Moomin  _ knew  _ him so well-- too well, even-- and of  _ course  _ he would never want to confess to Snufkin because of that very reason. 

He didn’t realize he was crying until his head was suddenly buried in Snorkmaiden’s chest and she was hugging him tightly. 

And he let her. 

Relieved and saddened and  _ scared,  _ he nuzzled into her warm body and hugged her back, fingers curling into her fur. He sniffled, moving to put his chin onto her shoulder, and she shifted a bit closer. 

“Cry, darling, cry. It’s alright. Just let it out, I’m here for you,” she whispered into his hair, and he did just that. He watched with blurred vision as her fur deepened in color. The tip of her tail melted from yellow to an ever-darkening shade of blue, and it crept up from there. Her regularly cream fur grew a little duller, warm undertones turned cool. And in places that were her regular, chipper gold, blue faded in and settled. He had almost forgotten how Snorks change color based off of their emotions. And it only made him cry more, knowing that she felt so deeply sympathetic for him that she was sad, too. She understood.

“I’m afraid,” he murmured wetly, voice choking. 

“I know you are.” 

“I love him so  _ much,”  _

“I know you do.” 

“And I now know-- or think I know, at least-- he loves me too, but I…” His voice trailed off, and he just hugged her tighter, a sob shaking his body. She stayed quiet, rubbing circles into his back, nuzzling the side of his face with her snout. He could hear the way her fur shifted ‘neath his cheek, and she smelled like rosewater. 

“Snorkmaiden, I’m very sorry you have to see me like this,” Snufkin whispered, feeling much better than before when he had first come into her house. He was lying on his stomach on her rug, and she was next to him, doodling on his arm in any place fur hadn’t grown with a pen. 

“Don’t apologize, I’m here for you,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I’m your friend, and as such, it’s my duty to let you let your feelings out to me. It’s healthy.” and then, after a brief pause, she added in a much quieter voice: “I’m very glad you let me help you when you felt vulnerable, though. Thank you, Snufkin.” 

“I should be thanking you, really,” Snufkin sniffled. “I come into your house, prod you about your mom, then break down in tears!” He laughed sloppily, still a little messy from crying so much.

“ _ Actually,  _ you were invited into my house-- as well as my room, mind-- and then you  _ asked  _ me in a respective manner about my mother and  _ didn’t  _ prod too much when I dropped the subject, and then  _ I  _ dug into your feelings to get the truth out of you. You’re merely the victim of my cruel charade,” 

“And what charade is that, o evil one?” Snufkin snorted hideously. 

“The one where I pretend to just be your friend but am actually trying to force information out of you. You know, like a spy,” she concluded, and Snufkin felt her draw in a little flower. Seven petals, and a long, long stem with a few leaves. 

“Or like Mrs. Fillyjonk,” he rolled his eyes, and the girl laughed heartily as she sketched out her third heart on his forearm. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set. Snufkin hadn’t realized that he had spent  _ all day  _ with Snorkmaiden until he felt a chill, and the girl moved to close her cotton white curtains. It was much darker than it was when he had arrived, and he felt guilty for taking up so much of her time. 

“It’s late, isn’t it!” Snorkmaiden exclaimed, turning back to Snufkin who was still lying on his tummy. His arm was littered in cutesy, messy doodles. 

“That it is,” he replied, standing. 

“If you’d like, you can sleep here. We don’t have any spare rooms, but I’m willing to share my bed. Or, if you don’t want to do that, we’ve got a fairly comfortable couch, you can stay on that if you’d like.” 

“No, no, I best be getting home,” he smiled warily, already beginning to lace his shoes. Snorkmaiden’s expression grew soft, and her fur tinted a bit darker. It had faded back into its original cream and yellow, though it wasn’t as vibrant as before, wasn’t as warm. Something was still on her mind, but he supposed that would simply have to wait. “by home I, of course, mean my tent,” he needlessly clarified. Perhaps he was just hoping to fill the silence. 

“If you change your mind, just wake me,” she offered him his hat, holding it gingerly in her paws as though it were some sort of precious treasure. Though, of course, to Snufkin, it was. He thanked her softly as he placed it on his head (freshly brushed and completely rid of tangles, mind you!), both for the hat and the offer. 

They both left, Snorkmaiden saying she would see him out. It was surprisingly dark downstairs, none of the lamps had been turned on, and it was much, much colder than earlier. Snorkmaiden fumbled around for a spell before turning one of the lamps on, offering a low, comfortable, yellow light in the kitchen, and revealing her brother sound asleep at the table, cheek resting on a thick, dusty book. No wonder none of the lights were turned on, and, upon further inspection, a window left open. 

“Goodnight, Snorkmaiden,” Snufkin smiled as she shut the window. His fingers were resting on the doorknob when she turned around. 

“And goodnight to you, too, Snuf,” she replied sweetly. They both nodded their respect, and soon the door was open, and a cold breeze instantly wrapped Snufkin up in a chilly embrace. 

Very suddenly, the picture of Little My in Snorkmaiden’s photo album flashed through his head, and he turned around to ask her what he probably already knew. However, she was laying a blanket across her brother’s shoulders and gingerly removing his glasses, setting them aside. However, despite her quietness, he jolted awake, picking his head up and fumbling to remove pages that clung to his cheek. As the two siblings shared a look of bewilderment, which quickly melted into a series of tired giggles, Snufkin decided that perhaps he ought to leave her alone. He could ask later. 

The wind whipped at his dress and threatened to take his hat away, but he held it tight to his head and screwed his eyes shut. This autumn was much colder than the last, and with a pang in his heart, he realized he should probably leave before it gets too cold. As he neared his campsite, he pondered the conversation he had had with Snorkmaiden-- the one about Moomintroll not wanting to confess because he didn’t want to make Snufkin feel trapped. Guilt pooled in the pit of his gut; he really didn’t know the boy felt this way. But soon, that all would change, for an abrupt feeling of warmth chased the guilt away. He was going to fix things, and he was going to tell Moomin how he felt. It was going to be okay. 

With all of this newfound motivation, he didn’t even notice the flake of snow that fell and hit the tip of his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> snorkmaiden and snufkin.......,,,,,,, are firneds,,, they understand one another,,,,,,, @ everyone who makes snorkmaiden mean because they see her as an obstacle for snufkin to get around in order to be with moomin,,,, ur meat is tiny


	9. this isnt a chapter lmao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UHHH SO BASICALLY DELETED MY WHOLE TUMBLR BLOG ON ACCIDENT

hey so i deleted my entire tumblr blog while trying to get rid of some sideblogs so if u came here from @valley-beasties the username is still the same!! so sorry


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